


Heirs to the Blood

by Sav8801



Series: Heir of Ysmir [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sav8801/pseuds/Sav8801
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty years after the defeat of the World Eater, a new threat is rising in Skyrim, a menacing darkness that will engulf the world.  Now, the heirs of gods and demons are the only ones standing between the mortal races of Tamriel and eternal night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fateful Night

Prologue: A fateful night

One could learn a lot from listening to the ambient noises filling the common room of the Winking Skeever Inn. Winter may have given way to spring twenty-seven times since the end of the last civil war, in which the rebellious Stormcloaks had won the independence of their lands from the Cyrodiilic Empire, but still the discontented whispers remained, filling the dark corners of these once cheerful halls. It was to be expected in this city of Solitude; the former capital was the last bastion of the Empire to fall in the rebellions. No amounts of mead or ale could wash the bitter taste of defeat from these mouths. Nord honour tends to hold on to grudges, like blood seeped into a cloth that was never to be clean again. No amount of mercy could sway their hearts either, not even the grace our current High King and then victorious rebel leader had granted to Solitude's queen, not only in sparing her life but in allowing her to keep a title of Jarl as well her hold.

The civil war had been long and bloody, its cause rooted in the great conflict between the Empire and the Elven Aldmeri Dominion, a supremacist faction of elves. Over fifty years ago, a united force of Bosmer and Altmer out of Valenwood and the Summerset Isles presented emperor Titus Medes the Second with an impossible ultimatum. He was to surrender a large portion of the Empire's western-most province to the Thalmor, the Dominion's ruling body; to allow its agents oversight into his entire government; to disband the secretive order of elite spies and assorted agents known as the Blades; and finally, to outlaw the worship of Talos, the hero-god of mankind, ascended from mortality for his unparallel deeds in life, and an unparallel affront to mer who clung to ideals predating the ascendency of men. Refusal to comply would result in open war, and refusal was the emperor's swift and unadulterated reply to this sudden and unprovoked challenge, prompting an immediate, theatrical response from the Dominion; to send the heads of every Blade agent who had been active in the Dominion's territory to the Imperial palace.

Thus had begun the Great War. The Dominion's relentless onslaught lasted five long, bloody years. Five years of untold carnage and atrocities, the crux of which was the sacking of the Imperial City itself. Though the battle lines shifted many times, often in favour of the elves, the Empire held strong, eventually fighting its enemies into a standstill, in no small part due to the heroic efforts of the Redguards of the province of Hammerfell, and my own people, the Nords of Skyrim. The price in blood was steep; the extent of the devastation defying comprehension, but a clear victory remained elusive. Rather than keep fighting what many had begun to feel was a pointless war, Titus Medes opened talks once more with the Thalmor. The peace treaty between both powers was known as the White-Gold Concordat, an accord heavily favouring the Thalmor and in essence giving in to their demands, just as they were before the war. Needless to say, the terms did not go down easily for everyone. Imperials and their Bretons ally were more than glad just to achieve peace, no matter the cost; Nords and Redguards were not convinced. Included in the terms of the treaty was the ceding of much of Hammerfell to the Dominion, as well as the outlaw of the worship of Talos, who in life had been Tiber Septim, greatest of Nord heroes. The Redguard forces returned to their homeland to fight on, eventually managing to secure their borders against the Dominion, despite the Empire upholding the Concordat by rejecting Hammerfell as an Imperial province and abandoning them to their fates. The Nord legions grudgingly marched back to Skyrim, only to find their own homeland, spared by war thus far, far different from what they had left.

Thalmor emissaries now walked the streets of their cities, as was the elves' right under the new treaty, ensuring the complete obliteration of the clergy of the ninth. Those who did not comply were simply dragged away into the night while their families watched powerlessly. Skyrim's former blessing, to have remained unspoiled by the great war due to its location on the opposite of the continent from the Dominion, became a curse once the Empire levied the funds it required to rebuild from whichever province could provide them. With Hammerfell lost, Dominion influence overriding Imperial authority in Elseweyr, and the Dark Elf province of Morrowind still recovering from the eruption of the red mountain over a century prior, much of that financial burden fell upon the prosperous cities of Skyrim and High Rock. The Nords' reward for the blood they spilled away from their homeland was impoverishment and indentured servitude to overlords that despised them, and watching from a distance while their Redguard brothers-in-arms achieved the victory they were denied by Thalmor appeasers. To many, this was too much to take, none more so than Ulfric Stormcloak, a veteran of the Great War and son to the deceased Jarl of Windhelm, the oldest human city in all of Tamriel. Sparks of discord began to ignite in his wake as he came into his title and birthright; his outspoken cries against the Empire he felt had failed the Nords became the epicenter of a of genuine movement of rebellion and independence that swept across Skyrim, named after their leader, the Stormcloaks. So great was the discontent, so many were the voices that joined his, that it was not long before he had the followers required to attempt a coup and make a play for the crown.

In accordance with ancient Nordic custom, Ulfric challenged and defeated the former High King Torygg in a duel to the death, declaring his intentions in the most spectacular fashion a Nord could. In one fell swoop, the usurper tore his opponent apart, by summoning the ancient and sacred power of the Voice, or Thu'um, in the dragon tongue. The honour of Ulfric's victory is a point of history many in Skyrim disagree on to this day. Many claim the power of the Thu'um made the duel a ritualised murder at best. Others, that the Thu'um is no less rooted in the lore and traditions of Skyrim as any martial prowess, and that employing it was no less honourable than striking down the king with a blade. Regardless, the point is moot. Ulfric's claim to the crown was rejected by Torygg's widow Elisif the fair, who sought out Imperial aid to defend the legitimacy of her own rule. Civil war was unavoidable.

In a strange twist of fate, Ulfric very nearly met the same fate the Empire did in the previous war against the Thalmor. Towards the end of the war, some thirty years ago, the Jarl of Windhelm fell victim to an Imperial ambush near Skyrim's southern border. Bound and gagged, on his way to the headsman's block, the end of the road appeared to be drawing near for the would-be king. Along with his men and a handful of unfortunate souls, Ulfric was taken to the fortress town of Helgen, where an unceremonious summary execution awaited him under the watchful gaze of Imperial general Tulius and Thalmor ambassador to Skyrim Elenwen.

Fate, however, always had a sense of humour.

That day in Helgen turned out to be more pivotal than any mortal could have conceived; it coincided with the first recorded dragon attack in over two whole eras, and the beginning of what would become known as the dragon crisis. Helgen was burned to the ground by a single, seemingly invincible beast that day, leaving scores of charred corpses behind in the ruins. Yet despite being taken prisoner, the rebel Jarl escaped, for all intents and purposes unscathed, with his followers and a new ally in tow; an unassuming Nord man returning to his homeland from Cyrodiil, captured in the same ambush as the rebels. The Jarl returned to Windhelm, and the waning conflict between Nord brothers waxed once more. From that point forward, however, never again were the loyalists to claim victory. The standstill was shattered, and one by one, starting with Whiterun in the central plains all the way to the coast of Solitude, every city fell. Once more, over the corpses of the last imperial troops and their slain general, Ulfric stared down Elisif the fair, this time, not as two pretenders for the throne, but as conquered and conqueror. From that day forth, Skyrim was free. For better, or worse.

That Elisif still rules Solitude, nay, that she still draws breath to this day is a confounding piece of the riddle that was the Stormcloak victory, one that is often chalked up to simple pragmatism. While Jarl Ulfric's mercy had prevented any further uprisings in the months leading up to his inevitable coronation, the inhabitants of Solitude had never truly gotten over their sudden and resounding defeat at his hand. It did not matter in their minds that once the Dovahkiin, the simple man met at Helgen, now a legendary hero known to more common folks as the Dragonborn, had rejoined the Stormcloak's campaign, the rebel advance had turned into a calamity worthy of Kyne's greatest wrath. That the rest of loyalist Skyrim had, just like them, folded like a house of cards, without exception. It did not matter that the other vanquished had neither fared better in battle or in the aftermath. If anything, it wounded their prides deeper that they were not the ones who could hold the line against that tide. They prided themselves as being a special breed, set apart from more common men. Ironic that they would have share this prideful trait with the "true sons and daughters" of Skyrim that had defeated them

All of that history was echoed in the drone of conversation in the inn's common room, the crackling of the fires and the ballads of the bards not enough to drown out the tales of lost honour or the tense murmurs of impotent conspiracy and dissidence, shared by like-minded individuals who knew they were powerless to change their lot. Skyrim had been its own nation for decades now, but the passage of time was seldom enough to quiet them for any length. Not often does the inn fall silent, like a man lost in the forest holding his breath as a hungry beast stalks by. Such a silence generally announces the entrance of the city watch, coming to arrest some drunken lout dancing on the tables, or even the drawing of knives and swords when idiots in their cups come to blows. The apparition of soldiers clad in the dark red armour of Solitude's guard, all of its members sworn followers of our High King would always guiltily silence those that seconds earlier swore bloody revenge on every last supporter of the usurper. Politics... enough to drive a woman mad sometimes.

However, the entrance that cast a dramatic, paranoid silence into the room was not that of the guard, but rather a lone figure, unfamiliar, unexpected. A stranger. An unknown. In the patron's mind, a threat, a possible spy. In mine? A footnote. While the sudden, and welcome, silence made me take notice of the newly arrived patron and the measured cadence of his boot falls as he made his way towards the bar, my eyes did not linger on his cloaked form for more than a few heartbeats. For good or ill will, I have long since lost my fascination with traveling adventurers, travelers or assorted sellswords, being a mercenary by trade myself, and one who has traveled all across Skyrim in the past decade. Generally I am the one causing silence and attracting glares whenever I make an entrance anywhere, although a month working at clearing the marshes surrounding Solitude from a sudden and unexplained infestation of frostbite spiders, chaurii and trolls had helped the locals warm up to me. I almost trusted the bartender enough to turn my back on him while he poured my drinks now. Almost.

It made the entrance of the man even more of a footnote in my mind that I was busy studying a map of the surrounding burial sites and caverns, the usual lairs of the creatures I had been exterminating at a satisfying premium for the past few weeks. While the creatures had been a problem, the Jarl's steward who hired me was wise enough to realise they were a symptom, not the cause of the actual disease. The true question was now what had driven normally insular creatures like giant spiders and cave trolls from their lairs and to the surface, a question I was intent on tackling at first light the following day. The stranger was not worth my time, as long as his presence here did not involve daggers or spells pointing in my direction. Even on the wages of a royally appointed mercenary, tavern brawls are a costly hobby.

And this is how this fateful night found me; hunched over my maps, my thoughts on caverns, coins and the ever present debate whether to throw a few septims away or not for some company for the night. The latter was a more complex calculation than one might think, balancing my conscience and its distaste for my occasional hiring of prostitutes against the pressure growing in my loins I hadn't sated in over a month, far more than the coin in my purse. Taking advantage of another woman's desperation never sat well with me, reminding me too much of certain vicious creatures I had trained long and hard to track and eliminate. In the wake of the economic vacuum left by the secession of Skyrim from the Empire, desperation was not all that uncommon to come by. In these hard times, many young girls, especially those not of pure Nordic blood, grew up begging for their sustenance, only to move on to whoring themselves out for it when they came of age (or often even sooner, as much as the thought sickened me); there was little chance for them to improve their lot from there. The more cunning of them would find their way to the thieves' guild or some other conglomeration of petty criminals. Others would, by some charitable or divine intervention, find the strength to walk a path similar to mine, living by the sword, their heads held high amongst men. Most of the rest would wither away in the shadows of a world that was, for the moment, too absorbed in its grand struggles to notice the ones it left behind and forgot.

My, we are in a gloomy mood tonight, are we not? I thought to myself, running a hand slowly through the tangled mess of my wild, untameable hair, debating whether I could delay calling upon one of the women servicing the room for one more night. Thinking too hard about their situation would not miraculously change it. Though I was not deluded enough to think they somehow truly enjoyed their encounter with me, I was intimately convinced a night spent in my arms could not be as unpleasant to the women I paid as spreading their legs for the first drunken oaf who tossed a septim their way. Would that I could spare their dignities in the same way I spared their bodies pain, but my need was slowly coiling itself tighter than a drawn bowstring low inside of me. I needed release, and soon, but finding a willing lover that shared my own preferences was not the most common of occurrence, especially when I was constantly on the road, rarely staying in one place long enough to get to know someone well enough to share their bed. Other than the occasional adventurous tavern girl or curious country maiden, neither of which were available tonight, prostitutes were my sole option, distasteful as that option may be.

Resigned that I could not hold back my craving any longer, I let my gaze be drawn to a Redguard woman garbed in clothes distinctly lacking in modesty going around the common room, trying too hard to look fetching and coquettish for the benefit of her potential customers. She was young, barely more than a girl, to be perfectly honest, her body still gangly and skinny from a rough adolescence, and not used at all to plying her charms. Whereas many of her 'sisters' had been successful in reeling clients for the night, the young Redguard had yet to find her mark, despite the hour getting later and later. I could tell even from a distance that she was getting desperate, and I wondered if she would have a roof over her head or food in her belly tonight unless she brought in her share of coins. I did not care for the looks of the men she was starting to approach, and judging by their lack of female company, willing or bought, I doubted I was the only one. The matter was quickly settled in my mind. She was not strictly to my tastes, although her legs were definitely captivating, but the thought of her spending the night with one or more of the ruddy louts made my skin crawl. It was hardly honourable of me, but taking her upstairs with me once I retired would at least keep their paws off her for one more night.

Hypocrite. Such a flaming hypocrite... I gave a quiet mirthless chuckle at my own sudden protective impulse towards a young woman I planned to use and discard. Better hygiene and a more careful touch between the sheets did not make me any less ridden by my baser impulses than they were, as evidenced by my eyes raking my intended lover's slender frame. A more animal part of me was rising to the occasion to mentally undress her and imagine her naked, submissive and offered beneath me; I had to give my lust-clouded head a shake or two to break free of my dark contemplations. Oblivion take me, it had been too long since I had last felt the skin of another upon mine; though I held them in check, the urges were getting distracting, and I understood myself well enough to know ignoring them would not suffice for much longer. Abstinence was not a choice I could make for long.

Hastily, I finished plotting the route that would, come morning, take me to the nearest known frostbite brood lair so I could begin my investigation, the terrifying and loathed giant arachnids seeming to me like the most promising lead into whatever it was that was driving dangerous subterranean creatures to the surface in such numbers. I would be in for a few miles of hiking through difficult wetlands, but I could honestly only give the upcoming trek only a passing, dismissive thought. Before I even began putting the maps I'd spread out before me away, I took a quick look around the room for a waitress to settle my tab for the evening, only to freeze when I heard something that gave me pause.

The tell-tale sound of a purse of coins angrily tossed upon a hard surface cut through the hushed conversation like cheerful chimes betraying less than avowable intentions. It was a sound I always associated with a grudgingly delivered bribe, one that most often followed drawn-out and unfruitful negotiations. More worrying was the fact that the sound had come from the direction of the bar, where the stranger who had entered earlier and promptly slipped my mind stood, talking to the inn keeper in hushed tones I could not clearly make out. What I could see plain as day was the way the balding man was looking in my direction, which made a long string of mental expletives fill my thoughts. Immediately, I lowered my eyes back to the maps, hoping he hadn't noticed me noticing him and I hadn't squandered the element of surprise should the need for violence arise.

As discreetly as I could I pushed my chair back a few inches from the table, so I would have room to clear it if need be, and let my right arm slip into the broadening space between my body and the horizontal surface. My hand drifted slowly closer to my left hip, my index and middle fingers running slowly along the fine leather wrappings covering the handle of the long, wickedly sharp dagger I kept there at all times. My eyes traveled the roads and rivers etched into the worn paper without truly seeing them, my attention focused rather on my peripheral vision and my hearing. The stranger's boot falls resonated again in the somewhat quiet common room, louder and louder as he drew closer to me, making no effort not to be noticed, which did not befit any assassin worth their salt. Either the man meant me no harm, or he was confident enough to believe he had no need to surprise me in order to take me down. The realisation made me relax a fraction. If the former was true, there would be no bloodshed tonight; if the latter was, whoever it was approaching me so unwisely would likely not have time to realise the error of their ways before I slit their throat open.

I pretended to be absorbed in my maps until the stranger walked into my field of vision, waiting until that precise moment when I knew beyond doubt I was the object of his interest before I fully gripped the small handle at my waist, drawing the short blade a fraction of an inch out of its scabbard. Inhaling slowly through my nose I took in a deep but discreet breath, calming myself for the moment I would counter whatever his first move would be, either by ducking under the table if they flung a spell at me or pull them over it if they tried to swing a weapon. I was ready, ready to kill if need be, but as my exhale ended and I found myself inhaling again without having to spill blood to earn the right to my next breath, I realised I had overreacted. Still, I did not feel silly for bracing myself for an attack that never came. As my father often said, a killing blow can come from your own failures more easily than your opponent's merits.

Yet without lifting a finger, the man, and the stranger under that cloak was indeed a man, still managed to surprise me, although he did in a manner I could have scarcely braced against.

"Astlyr." I gasped when the man quietly spoke the two syllables of my name with a calm assurance, as if he knew my identity beyond a sliver of doubt. My eyes instantly went from the table top to his face, narrowing as my nose crinkled and the corner of my mouth curled into an annoyed scowl.

"If you have any business knowing that name, then you should also know I have not gone by it for a long time." I replied evenly after swallowing the sudden surge of annoyance. The light from a nearby candle cast deep shadows into the hood he had not drawn back, obscuring more than revealing his features. Out of habit, I gave my mysterious interlocutor a quick once-over, hoping to gain some insight into who he was. The cloak itself was little help; it was thick and as well-tailored as it was well-worn, the standard garb of any adventurer interested in surviving Skyrim's inclement weather long enough to be gored by some of its less hospitable fauna. If not for its light tan colour, I might have mistaken it for my own. What lay under the cloak however, was far more telling. The man was in full armour, but of a make and style quite uncommon to these parts. His was not the typical hide or leather armour worn by the gallery of rogues and brigands that gave the roads of my homeland a veritable taste for blood, theirs or their quarry, or the ornate steel or iron cuirass commonly favoured by serious (or not so serious) soldiers of fortune. Instead, his armour consisted of a chest piece made of carefully woven plated mail, worn over a light gray arming doublet that fell to his mid-thighs. Sturdy leather pants protected his legs while still granting him critical mobility in the event of a scuffle, and his feet were protected equally well from glancing blows and frostbite by thick buckled boots. As the cloak parted when he reached upwards to pull back his hood, I also noted the assortment of pouches and satchels hanging from a number of belts around his waist, as well as the seemingly simple war axe suspended in an iron loop at his side. How strange that once again, if it was not for the differing colours, I might have mistaken his attire for my own. Well, there was also the obvious difference that my armour had been forged with the curves of a woman in mind, but the style and utility was unmistakable; it offered more than decent protection, without encumbering the wearer with the rigidity and bulk of full metal plates. Though familiar to me, the armour was more than unusual enough to draw the eye of the inn's clientele, as evidenced by the murmurs I heard coming from a neighbouring table.

"Dawnguard..." An awestruck man declared somewhere to my left, coming to the same conclusion I had seconds prior. Although I was puzzled that a commoner would know the armour of the reclusive order by sight, I paid them little heed, turning my attention back to the stranger's face he finally allowed the light to touch. Like me, he was dark of hair and fair of skin, although his loose brown hair looked insouciantly ruffled where mine was simply wild and unruly the second I shook it loose from its braid. His feature exuded a rugged charm, and there was an easygoing look in his eyes that contrasted sharply with his attire, or the carnage I knew he was capable of unleashing.

"Celann." I rigidly nodded my head to the vampire hunter, and my former comrade in arms.

"Eleanor, then. It is still Eleanor, right?" Celann mockingly asked me, making my eyes narrow again. "I seem remember that was the latest name that struck your fancy."

"It is a good name. And more importantly, it is a name I earned." I replied, trying and failing not to sound defensive. There were reasons why I did not go by the name my mother had given me.

"Ha. Right. You and your issues. I had hoped striking out on your own would give you time to get over them. Shows what I know."

"My issues with that name are my own, hunter." I told him off, not the slightest bit amused by his teasing. "They are not yours to mock or dismiss, nor are they the Dawnguard's. Especially not the Dawnguard's."

"As you wish, Eleanor." Celann said with a touch of irony before nonchalantly seating himself across from me.

"No, by all means, do not remain standing. Have a seat." I dryly said, and gestured for the bartender to send over some drinks. I might have been none too pleased to see him, or any representative from the Dawnguard save for a few, but what kind of Nord fails to offer a drink to someone who stood at their side in battle, no matter how poorly their last meeting went? "What do you want?"

"I was also worried you would greet me with a blade. I'm glad to know I was wrong, and you've kept your cheerful disposi-." He was cut off when, already exasperated, I finally drew the dagger I had kept handy, and in one smooth motion drove it hard, tip first, into the wood of the table between us before casually reclining comfortably in my seat. "Oh. I see. You have greeted me with a blade after all." Although I knew Celann was not, could not be truly intimidated by my small outburst of aggression, it made me feel marginally better that I had managed to silence his glib tongue, if only for a moment.

"Celann, for your information, I have spent most of today knee-deep in a freezing swamp, covered in spider and troll gore." I sighed morosely. "I have another hard day ahead of me tomorrow. No, I am not pleased to see you, nor would I be pleased to see any other member of the order. I would say it is nothing personal, but we both know what a lie that would be."

"Yes, we do." Celann acknowledged after several long seconds holding my gaze, my last declaration accomplishing what a dagger sinking into solid wood could not and humbling him. "Forgive me. When I began looking for you, I was clinging to hope you might have forgiven the order, or at least those of us who stood by while Isran excommunicated you."

"There are few things I wish to linger upon less than that day." I warned him, my voice a low growl. I fell quiet for a moment as the bartender placed mugs of chilled mead before each of us, a disapproving scowl on his face at the sight of the dagger still sunk in the table. How terribly unfortunate for him that he had the lack of judgment to point Celann my way... "What. Do you. Want?" I slowly enunciated each syllable, fatigue and hunger eroding my patience with my former comrade at an alarming pace.

"I want you to come back." Celann declared after a few moments of terse silence he filled by taking a gulp of his mug. I blinked. "We need you." He gave me a steady stare as I blinked again, hoping to clear away the red rim threatening to engulf my vision. I was not successful.

"Excuse me?" I nearly stood up and shouted at his ludicrous request. "You need me to come back?!"

"I believe this is what I said." Celann calmly replied.

"And I cannot believe the nerve he has to send you-"

"No. Don't put words in my mouth, lass." Celann interrupted me. "I said 'we', as in the Dawnguard, need you. Not Isran. As far as he knows, I am only bringing word of a new threat to the Jarl of Solitude. The situation across Skyrim is severe and becoming worse by the day, but not so much yet that he would..." Apologise? "...you know."

"Of course he did not send you." I raged, my anger still as fresh as the day I last saw the fort the Dawnguard called home six years ago. Some wounds are simply not meant to heal, as evidenced by this jagged gash the rejection of my former comrade had left upon my heart. "Isran would not know to apologise to a mother dragon for trampling her nest! Why would a mere mortal such as me warrant such a lofty honour?"

"You are preaching to the converted, lass." Celann calmly tried to appease me. "You know not all of us were happy when he showed you the door."

"I can count them on the fingers of one hand, in fact." I spat out.

"When I heard of a mercenary with strange armour and weapons cleaning up the marshes by herself back in Morthal, I followed my gut feeling and swapped assignments with Mogrul so I could come to investigate." He shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the stormy mood his words were evoking in me. "Even if it had not been you, I might have found a decent recruit."

"A decent recruit..." I scoffed, burying my face in my hands in an attempt to keep myself from shouting. "By the Nine, I cannot believe this. Give me one good reason why I should walk back into fort Dawnguard like nothing happened. Just one!"

Celann regarded me grimly for several long seconds, his hands rolling the pewter mug around in a thoughtful tick. "Very well." He finally said. "We need you because for the first time in nearly a decade of existence, the Dawnguard is not simply providing a handy service to this land. In fact, we might finally be as desperately needed as Isran always said we would be."

This gave me pause. In fact, it brought me to a screeching halt. The Dawnguard is an organisation devoted to one purpose and one purpose only, and that is the extermination of vampires, wherever they may be found. While being dedicated to the hunt of the craftiest and most vicious breed of undead to ever walk Nirn sounded like a valid goal for those with the stomach and the mettle to go toe to toe with the beasts, in reality the vampire problem, in Skyrim at least, had never been bad enough to truly warrant our..., their presence. In most cases of vampire infestation, the folks of Skyrim tended to turn to the Vigil of Stendarr, a martial splinter group of the faith of the god of justice and mercy, one that dedicated itself to defending the faithful from all manners of unnatural threats. Their specialty might be daedra and all of their manifestations in our realm, but they would not eschew the chance to fight a vampire or two, and in their brief history this was always a sore point of rivalry between the two orders. In the end, while I could attest that the Dawnguards were hands down the better fighters, most common folks preferred to deal with a stern but kind-hearted missionary able to both strike down that which they could not and provide healing and comfort, rather than a lone, nearly fanatic hunter clad in esoteric armour wielding weapons and knowledge the likes of which they had never seen. Our... their, rigorous training and extreme methods were never warranted. Back in my days, the Dawnguard mostly worked thanklessly behind the scene, finding and eradicating vampire nests and tracking down the beasts that hid in plain sight amongst their prey. The impact we had was never felt, simply because the problem was never bad enough for people to take note of it in the first place.

"What do you mean?" I asked Celann, the first inkling of worry quieting me. "The last I heard, the Vigil was doing a good enough job of keeping the vampire troubles suppressed. They might lack our... your thoroughness," I caught myself, but a corner of Celann's mouth nonetheless lifted in a joyless near-smile, "but a few stray vampires are not much more dangerous than your average rogue mage or necromancer."

"I see the news hasn't reached Solitude yet. I wondered." Celann said with a slow glance around the mostly peaceful common room, filled with only murmurs of discontent at simple political matters. "Eleanor, the Vigil is gone."

"What!?" I uttered in disbelief. By the Nines, how many times could I be struck dumb in one night?

"It is the truth. The Hall of the Vigilants has been burned to the ground, and most of the vigilants, including their Keeper, are presumed to be dead. There are a few stragglers here and there, but they are disorganised and lost without the guidance of the clergy and their superiors. We're the only ones left who can hold the tide."

"Hold the tide? You mean..." My eyes widened when he nodded. "Vampires did this? Are you serious? When have vampires ever dared to act out so openly?"

"Never." Celann responded. "It gets worse. Many of the smaller settlements down south are practically under siege. Hjaalmarch, Falkreath, the Pale, there are hundreds of the beasts out there, infesting every dark nook and cranny during the day only to come out at night and take whatever and whoever they want. The guardsmen simply cannot hold their own, and with our armies guarding our borders against Imperial or Elven incursions, they cannot count on reinforcements. Scores of citizens are already dead or missing. They are gathering strength, and we fear it will not be long before they turn their attention to the larger cities, like Whiterun, Windhelm and Solitude."

"I think they might already have..." I whispered, lowering my eyes to the map still spread out between us. A vampire infestation of this magnitude would certainly explain why subterranean predators were suddenly being ousted to the surface. Vampires needed someplace to rest during the day, and they certainly would not share their lairs with vermin. "What else would drive every single cave creature in a fifty miles radius from its lair but..."

"... a concerted effort by a horde of vampires looking for shelter." Celann completed for me. "Did you encounter any of the beasts out there?"

"Only the evicted tenants of their new lairs, but only a fool ventures into the Haafingar marshes at night. I did not want to risk my skin pointlessly. It would certainly explain much, however." I mused, my anger and annoyance at my interlocutor's presence all but forgotten. "What course of action is the Dawnguard going to follow?"

"Right now all of our veteran hunters are out there in the Hold capitals, trying to keep the streets clear at night. Solitude is the last major city we have left to secure." He pointed to several locations on one of my maps showing the whole of Skyrim. It made sense that the hunters would be coming here last, since the former capital was the most distant city from Riften, far to the south east, where the Dawnguard made its home. "We have also stepped up recruiting efforts, which is how I heard about you, as I've said. Isran, Gunmar, Sorine and Florentius are working day and night back in fort Dawnguard to whip our new recruits into shape."

"How bad is it?" I asked, knowing that during times of crisis, the need to field troops had a tendency to outweigh the usefulness of properly training them first. The philosophy of the Dawnguard had always been that quality trumps quantity; hunters were taught a high degree of self-sufficiency, and trained to a ridiculous extent in the use of an array of techniques and weapons. With a prey so vicious and cunning, every ounce of that knowledge was needed not only to succeed but live to tell the tale. To send someone half-cooked against any vampire more than a few years old is practically a death sentence.

"Bad." Celann said, wincing for the first time tonight. Going by the face he made, I was inclined to believe him. "Most folks who heed our calls are farmers or commoners who lost loved ones to recent vampire attacks. They are looking for vindication, and they lack neither motivation nor spirit, but... we would be in better luck than we are now if a third of our current crop had ever held a sword properly in their lives. We have no basis to start teaching them our ways when they barely know the hilt from the point, so Isran and Gunmar have to start from the ground up. A few may make decent hunters yet, but the rest of them will most likely end up as fodder."

"And Isran will just send them out there regardless?" I asked, and cursed under my breath when Celann nodded. Our potential recruits back when I had been part of the order had been mercenaries or professional soldiers, guardsmen or the odd marauder wanting to turn his life around. Basic sword drills were not something Isran and I ever had to worry about six years ago.

"He has no choice, though I doubt the man is too broken up about it even so. At the very least they can wear the armour and give a town the appearance of security. It may give the vampires pause to see twenty men on the streets instead of two. Otherwise, we will be bogged down. Our hunters are holding the line against them, but while we work to keep citizens safe, we're not out there finding the source of all these vampire attacks. We can only stop the infection from spreading for so long before it overtakes us all."

"And you have no clue, none whatsoever, of where these vampires came from."

"Some idea where they came from, of course. Other vampires." He replied with dark humour. "In all seriousness? None. We're just as much in the dark as the rest of Skyrim, and by Talos, it is getting darker and darker out there."

"Gods damnit..." I swore again.

"I know the last thing you want is to come back to Riften," Celann diplomatically said, "but we can ill afford to go on without your help. I implore you, at least consider. Whatever transpired with Isran, the two of you have to put it in the past where it belongs."

Isran never told them? I arched a brow, taken by surprise by this unexpected revelation. The order had never been told the reason why one of its most seasoned members had been so suddenly expelled?

"I don't know if this is an issue that can be laid to rest." I said, absently fingering the silver ring on my right hand, baffling myself that I was no longer enraged by the sight of my former comrade, and much more importantly, for even considering forgiving Isran. "Besides, I am only one woman, who has not hunted vampires in six years, I might add. What good can I realistically do, if the situation is so dire?"

"Ha!" Celann scoffed, for good this time. "You? You, of all people wonder this?" He eyed me knowingly, leaned forward and murmured, "I may have no business mocking your issues with your name, but Astlyr Stormblade is the very last woman in Skyrim who has a right to doubt the impact a single person can have." And just like that, I was annoyed by his presence once more. "Besides lass, the day you lose your edge is the day I hang up my ax and become a baker."

"Be careful with such oaths, old friend. You never know..." I darkly left the words hanging, but as he downed what was left in his mug, Celann rightly looked as worried as a hungry dragon staring down a rabbit. I had most certainly not lost my edge, no matter how long it was since my sword tasted the blackened blood of a vampire.

"I have to get back to the men. We will to report to the Jarl first thing in the morning, get the guards up to speed and organise a night watch. Farewell, Eleanor. I hope your reunion with Isran goes well. I wish I could be there to see it." Celann tipped his head to me and stood up, his gloved hands pulling the tan hood of his cloak back over his face.

"I never said I agreed." I called out after him, but the smile plastered on his face never wavered. "I don't have to, especially since you just cost me a contract!" Somehow, I doubted the steward would pay me to investigate the cause of the marshes' infestation once such a convenient scapegoat was dropped in his lap.

"Of course not. However, I'm sure leaving Gunmar, Sorine and Florentius to fend for themselves will sit well on your conscience. You know that the greater the hindrance we become, the greater the odds the Dawnguard will go the way of the Vigil." He trailed of, and I hissed at the mention of the three Dawnguard members I still held up as friends, my eyes narrowing.

"You swing below the belt, hunter."

"Not my fault you have more to hit down there than most men I know." Celann countered good-naturedly. "Dawn approaches, Sister." He told me when I failed to take the bait, before leaving the inn behind to rejoin his fellow Dawnguards.

"May your courage last the night... Brother." I whispered the reply to the traditional Dawnguard farewell under my breath, long after the door shut behind Celann. Better to be safe than sorry; I would never hear the end of it if he heard me reply. Sighing and weary, I motioned to the bartender I was done for the night before wrenching my dagger out of the wooden table and slipping it back into its sheath.

"Will there be anything else?" The acrid old man asked me once I had handed him the count of gold I owed for my supper and drinks. I opened my mouth to tell him no, but my body, no longer distracted from its urges by Celann's presence, chose that moment to remind me we had unfinished business. My blood began simmering with need anew, and I shuddered discreetly with the urge to touch another.

"The Redguard over there." I took a glance over my shoulder to see if the young woman I had set my sights on earlier still had not found her mark. Sure enough, I found her sitting on a bench by the entrance, her head in her hand and a desperate look in her eyes that all but confirmed she would be sleeping outside tonight.

"Lyna?" The inn keeper looked surprised for a moment that a woman would require female company for the night, but once it wore off, he snorted almost disdainfully. "You shouldn't bother. Pretty face on that girl, but she's not all that in bed. I can find you better."

"I do not remember asking." I nearly growled. "Send her up to my room. With a bottle of Alto wine." I added and fished a few more septims from my coin pouch for the wine. I could pay the girl for her services in person. That way, she would at least see the colour of that coin before her 'protector' took his share.

"Hum, there is also the matter of the table..." The old man trailed off, something in my tone wisely making him uncomfortable.

"Take the price out of your latest bribe." I replied with a dismissive wave of my hand.

"What? Now wait just a damned minute!" He began to protest, greed overthrowing his sense. Foolishly, he gripped my right forearm as I began to walk away, his stubby fingers tightly encircling the leather of the studded bracer I always wore when out of armour, as if he could somehow squeeze his gold out of it. My head whipped to the side in his direction, and I immediately ground to a halt, my stance instinctively widening and lowering in preparation for a quick dodge, block or strike. My grey eyes hardened into a steely glare, thoroughly cowing the sleazy man into letting go of me.

"Consider it a lesson into respecting your paying customers' privacy, barkeep." I said with a touch of snide humour. "Send her to my room, and make sure we are not disturbed until morning."

I turned again and left the slightly bedazzled man in my wake, feeling his wide, frightened eyes tracking me every step of the way as I climbed the stairs leading to the second and third floor of the inn, where my room was located. A fragrant scent filled my nostrils as soon as I pushed the door open and walked in, wafting from the laboratory setup I had rented and installed in the corner in prevision of an extended stay. The quiet bubbling sound of potions distilling over a small everlasting flame stirred the silence in a familiar and deeply comforting way that made me smile peacefully. Alchemy always had a very soothing effect on me. Something about the absolute attention it requires always takes my mind off matters for a time, just like meditating or maintaining my weapons and armour. It represents the calm before the storm, giving me the assurance that preparation, along with my skills and experience, will see me through the next ordeal.

But what ordeal would that be? I wondered distractedly, the night's revelations still spinning madly in my mind. A vampire invasion? Could there even be such a thing? It seemed to go against everything I knew of the fiends. While they certainly had the power, as well as the contempt towards men and mer to dream of attempting something as ambitious as the Dawnguard suspected, there was one insurmountable hurdle I knew would always stand in their way; the sun. While vampires were fearsome by night, daylight sapped a great deal of their unholy strength away. In all but the oldest, it deprived them of their magicka reserves, slowed their speed and reflexes almost to a crawl, and profoundly exhausted them after only a short exposure. They would be cut down in a matter of days if they became too much of a problem.

Yes, they would be, if the king's armies were not occupied with repelling Thalmor and Imperial raids along the coast... I grimly thought. Could this be nothing more than inopportune timing on the fiends' part? An arrogant festival of bloodshed and slaughter that would end on its own once we repelled the threat from without and could focus once more on the one from within? Unheard of, but not impossible. I might have dismissed the thought of working with the Dawnguard again if it was the case, but if Isran truly did believe the vampire hunters were truly finally needed... I was tempted to trust his fanatic instincts. The day he said he told the ones who doubted him so would be bad, for everyone.

Sleep on it. I finally decided. I could not do anything tonight, regardless of whether decided to rejoin the ranks of the order or not. Hastily, before my company for the night arrived, I took the potion off the fire and gave it a twirl to test its consistency. The liquid had concentrated into a thick sludge in the hours since I had left it to simmer. Although it required a bit of insistence I poured what was left into a small tin of waxy polish, and used a copper spoon from my apparatus to mix the two together into a smooth, shimmering paste before capping the container and putting it away. Under normal circumstances I would have treated my gear immediately, but preparing the magic resistant mixture was all I had time for before a knock at the door announced the arrival of the young Redguard. Not that I actually assumed it was her, and didn't reach for my dagger as well as the door handle.

"M-my lady." She stuttered when I opened the door to let her in, her deep brown eyes downcast and her pretty face framed by a cascade of dark, dark curls. She held a simple serving tray in her unsteady hands, upon which rested a dark green bottle and a single silver goblet.

"Come in." I told her quietly, my features softening a fraction as I stepped out of the way. The girl jerked into motion and walked past me, her nervousness as obvious as the moon in a cloudless night sky. Breathing in deep, I shut the door behind her and turned to face the room, my fingers beginning to play upon the buckle of the bracer on my left forearm.

"I'm s-sorry if I kept you waiting." She needlessly apologised as she put down her tray on the smaller of two tables in my room, the one I had kept for private meals that was not covered in pieces of armour and assorted weapons. "Here, let me get you some w-wine."

"It's not for me." I told her from across the room, where I set the pair of bracers down amongst the rest of my gear. She mustn't have heard me, or else her nervousness kept her from understanding the implications of what I said because I found her facing me when I turned around, timidly extending the goblet of wine to me. Still she wouldn't make eye contact.

"It's for you." I whispered, taking her quivering hands in both of mine and gently pushing them towards her face, and she emitted a quiet sound of surprise when I brought the rim of the goblet to her lips and tipped it encouragingly so they dipped into the rich red wine. Her large eyes darted to mine, the look in them reminding me of a skittish doe about to flee. She stood perfectly still and tense, like she expected me to strike her for daring to taste the wine, but as one heartbeat gave way to another and I made no move other than convey my approval with my eyes, she gathered enough assurance to have a taste. Smiling reassuringly, or at least I hoped I was, seeing as I could think of little else other than stripping her clothes off, I let my fingers slide along her arms, relishing the feel of her smooth cinnamon-hued skin. Gently gripping her tantalisingly exposed shoulders, I lightly pushed her back until she was sitting on the bed, then settled myself next to her, close enough to touch but not so much she felt smothered.

"Thank you..." She murmured, a shiver passing over her as I began to rub small circles over her shoulder. "I... I'm sorry if I seem nervous."

"I don't think you seem nervous." I throatily chuckled and moved my hand to the base of her neck. Her muscles were taut and tense, and my caresses instinctively changed into firm kneading, making the young woman sigh and her lovely brown eyes flutter close. "I think you are. You've never been with a woman before, have you?"

She shook her head, unsurprisingly. "I don't have a clue what to do." She admitted, still quiet as a mouse. "I can please a man, but I... I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint."

"What to do?" I smiled and brushed her hair off her shoulder, exposing the long lines of her throat. "You're going to finish your wine." I said, my lips ghosting against her skin for the first time. "And once you do, I will show you." I pressed more firmly into her, drawing a reedy sound of surprise and near-delight from her, and for a time, pushed away thoughts of old acquaintances and dusty oaths long since abandoned. My inner struggles could wait until morning.


	2. A Journey Begins with a Single Step

 

Dawn found me several hours later when I awoke with a start and a quiet gasp, just as the sun finished peeking over the horizon, lighting the coastline of Solitude and the dull grey sky ablaze in a spectacular tribute to Kyne’s glory.  My breathing was erratic from the last dissipating figment of the dream I could scarcely recall with any lucidity, beyond incredibly vivid flashes of sensations, and an unparalleled feeling of freedom.  Swallowing thickly, I took a quick, instinctive glance around the growingly familiar room, just in case it was not the dream but something else that had woken me.  Noting nothing out of the ordinary, I let myself back onto the feather mattress, sighing with longing to return to the oblivious simplicity of the dream world, and out of the morass of my near future.  I had not been awake for a minute, and already Celann’s plea for aid was worrying at my heart and mind.

 

 _I could simply walk away..._  I mused, staring blankly at the ceiling.  _To Oblivion with Isran and his lot._ The tempting thought floated fetchingly in my head, but I did not need to search deep within my soul to know I was being petty to consider it.  If I did pick up the mantle of the Dawnguard again, it would not be for his benefit, but that of Skyrim.  And perhaps for the three members of the order who had nearly argued Isran’s ears off on that final day I spent in fort Dawnguard years ago.  I may not have remained in contact with them, but their loyalty to me had been the only boon in one of the darkest moments of my life, when all I had striven to achieve came crashing down around me.

 

 _And I have a chance to earn it back..._  

 

A shiver and a low groan coming from my left cut my considerations short, drawing my eyes to the lovely bared back of the woman who had shared my bed last night.  My abrupt awakening may not have roused Lyna from her sleep, but it had dislodged the blankets we had drawn around ourselves once the fiery passion of our earlier embrace had subsided.  While the morning chill hardly bothered me, the fierce sun of the great Alik’r desert of her homeland, so very far away, was as much a part of her as the long winters and the abundant snowfalls of Skyrim were of me.  Already she missed the heat of my body.  A melancholy sigh parted my lips as I scooted back over to her, moulding my body against her back, and drew the blankets back to our chins.  Even in the dim light, my very light complexion positively shun against her exotic, dusky one, a contrast I took the time to appreciate as I cocooned the young woman’s slender frame with my more muscular body, sharing with her a warmth and safety I doubted she had felt in a long time.  As soon as she stopped shivering, my eyes lightly shut.  I pushed the nagging guilt I felt at using her away and savoured the liquid satisfaction coursing through my limbs.  Lyna might not have had experience with a woman before meeting me, but she had proven herself to be a quick study, her mind as nimble, once it was unburdened from anxiety, as her body.  The fire in my blood had subsided, for now, leaving behind a pleasant, lingering energy in my relaxed muscles.  Lying there, idly listening to the quiet hiss of the alchemy laboratory and the deep, restful breathing of my young Redguard lover, I felt very little inclination to move, an unusual occurrence for someone suffering from quasi-constant bouts of wanderlust. 

 

“Hmm...”  Nearly a half-hour passed like this before Lyna shifted in my arms and began to mumble.  “Are you awake?”  She asked, quietly enough not to wake me, if I had not been, and I replied with a smoothing stroke of her thick, luscious hair. 

 

“It’s early yet.”  She said, noticing the way the sun had just barely begun streaming in through the room’s window.  “Did I wake you?” 

 

“No.”  There was little nervousness in her voice when she inquired, but I was quick to reassure her nonetheless, her fear of disappointing the expectations of her protector all too fresh in my mind. 

 

“I always was an early riser.”  I declared, making a small mental addendum of the years I spent first as Isran’s apprentice and then as the second in command of the Dawnguard, once we reformed the order.  I had become mostly nocturnal by then.  As a popular book said, ‘when tracking your prey, you adopt their habits.’  An appropriate quote pulled from ‘Immortal Blood’, author unknown, a two-bit novel about vampire hunting, and one that fell quite far off the mark, as was to be expected.  Still, that part was true.  “How are you?  Slept well?”

 

“Nothing... hurts.  That’s new.”  Relieved I was not upset at her, Lyna rolled around to lie on her back so she could face me, her body wedging itself more than halfway under mine in the process.  The shy young Redguard gave me a hesitant look before licking her lips and reaching up for me, her fingers gliding in my hair and lightly gripping a few locks so she could pull me down for a kiss.  My eyebrows rose, the initiative surprising me, but I nevertheless returned the kiss; I consider myself a giving lover, and despite the less-than-ideal circumstances of our night together, I had a growing suspicion I was the only one she ever shared herself with who gave more than a passing consideration to her enjoyment.

 

I shared a questioning look with her between two kisses, frowning at what I saw.  She nodded in reply, and with a breathy moan, anxiously resumed her exploration of my mouth.  While one hand held my mouth close to hers, her other one began to roam my side, tracing the curve of my hip, drifting to the hard panes of my stomach where her fingers lingered, their final destination obvious.

 

“Lyna...”  I stopped her just as her fingers brushed the dark curls nestled at the apex of my thighs.  It was my turn to sound winded; I would have gladly agreed to one last tangle in the sheets, were it not for the motivations I suspected the young Redguard to harbour towards me.  “Lyna, that’s enough.”  I reluctantly reached between us and pulled her hand away before she could explore my body further.  “You have fulfilled your side of our arrangement.  There is no need for this.”

 

“But I... I want to.”  The young Redguard whined, incomprehension and confusion emerging in her lust-clouded eyes.  _And therein lies the problem_ , I thought.  There was passion in her eyes now, true passion, as well as the first glimmers of something genuine.  It was a childish response, to grow sweet on the first person she had shared a taste of true intimacy with, but it was also precious, a sign that there was some remnant of wonder the world had not yet pounded out of her.  A woman who paid her for sex had no rights to these feelings.  “I will do it for free.  I don’t care about the coin...  Please?  Make an exception and sleep in late?” 

 

“I can’t.  There are matters that require my attention.”  This was not a lie, nor an excuse, at least.  “I need to be on my way.  Soon.”

 

“Stay with me, just for a little while.”  She pleaded in near desperation, her tone betraying how very lonely this young woman really was.

 

“You deserve better than this.”  I apologised as I pulled away from her, despite her attempt at pinning me down with a wounded stare.  I was sorely tempted to remain, to let her cling to the illusion for a little while longer, I truly was, but my conscience was now firmly back in control of my actions, not my aching loins.  I felt guilty enough using her to last me a long time already.  There was no need to add to this burden further.  Disentangling myself from the bed sheets, I stood up and walked to the room’s dresser, where I had hung the innermost layer of my armour, a pair of leather pants and a sturdy, simple cotton shirt.  I needed to get outfitted and on the road.  Dressing this way, I would not need to change again after I ate breakfast.

 

“You’re the first one, you know.  The first one who gave a skeever’s rear end about me.”  She whispered, the pain in her eyes tugging at my heart, making me look over my shoulder back at the warm bed I had just left.  Lyna had sat herself up against the headboard, the sheets drawn tight around her chest to cover a modesty I personally did not feel.  “Don’t tell me I deserve better than this, when ‘this’ is the best I have ever had!”

 

“Lyna...”  I sighed her name, mentally cursing the fate that would make her hold a night spent whoring herself out up as anything desirable.  I walked back to her side of the bed, holding her gaze unyieldingly so she knew I was not coming to join her.  Facing her, I sat down with a quiet shuffle of fabric and a soft creak of wood, and placed one arm across her waist, the hand of the other gripping the edge of the bed, pinning her in place.  It was a dominating posture I adopted, but I held back enough to make sure not to overtly frighten her; there was a part of myself that would simply never take well to being challenged, whether it be physical altercations, or accusations born of heartache.  “I will not pretend to know what your heart longs for.”  I told her softly.  “But I do know this, me, is not it.”

 

“How?  How would you know that!?”  She tried to snap at me, but like her patron the night prior, there was something in my eyes that made her shrink away from me as I leaned closer.  “You don’t know what it’s like to let some drunk pound you like a slab of meat, just so you won’t starve or freeze to death.  You were not like that...”

 

  “I know, because I have not even come close to offering you anything that would warrant affection.   Taking the time and care to pleasure you does not make me any nobler than any other man who has taken you to bed.”  I murmured in her ear, letting my breath spill over her cheek and her throat, just barely reining in the desire to press my teeth down around her jugular.  “You are confusing the satisfaction of your needs as a woman with love.  If I believed that satisfaction to be all you were after, I would not dream of rejecting you, but taking advantage of your confusion would be worse than paying you for your body.  Do you understand?”

 

“No...”  She said, her eyes downcast, and beginning to brim with tears.

 

“Someday, you will.”  I replied, two fingers of my right hand tucking beneath her chin to bring her gaze back to mine.  “You will fall in love, and look back on this moment, wondering how you could mistake something so base for true feelings.”  It was a bit wistful on my part, to declare with any assurance she would find her  way out of the life she was forced to live now, but that was another issue altogether, and a battle I could not fight for her.  With a final kiss to her forehead, I left Lyna to mull my words over, and this time she did not protest my pulling away.  I felt her eyes tracking my every move as I planted my feet on the floor and strolled back to where I had left my clothes, a quick glance over my shoulders confirming that it was not exactly the fall of my hair that had the young Redguard captivated.  Perhaps she had at least gained a new appreciation for her own preferences out of this...

 

I scoffed a quiet laugh and indulged in a private half-smile for a moment before slipping on my smallclothes and shirt, hiding skin as well as my assortment of scars, from view, but before I could lace the garment up, I was interrupted by three quick raps at the door.  With a precautionary glance at the longsword leaning against the nearby wall, next to the table I had laid my gear over, I moved to answer it.  A young man stood on the other side, one I recognised by now from the many times he had knocked at my door during my stay.

 

“Good morning, my la-la-la... dy...”  His cheerful, if a bit slumbering, greeting dissolved into an inarticulate sputter at the sight of my semi-nakedness, and the fully nude young Redguard still brooding in my cooling bed. 

 

“Breakfast?”  I cleared my throat and mildly asked the young man. Quickly, he averted his eyes from my cleavage, an embarrassed blush reddening his youthful features, despite the fact I clearly was not cross with him.  Like I said, modesty was not something I overly burdened myself with; had I been ashamed of my state of undress, I would have slipped on my trousers and laced up my shirt before answering.  Besides, a small eyeful was not entirely undeserved, considering the hour he had to wake to see to my morning meal.

 

“Y-yes.”  He answered, clearly using up some of his willpower to make eye-contact with me.  “Will you b-be having the usual?”

 

“For two, please.”  I acknowledged with a nod.

 

“Of course.  Right away.”  His answer was rushed, and so was his step as soon as the words were out of his mouth; seeing him nearly running down the hallway, you would have thought he was trying to outrun a rabid wolf, not fulfilling a meal order.

 

I ate my hearty breakfast with a distracted mind, a fair share of my attention on the maps I had once more pulled out.  I was giving rejoining the Dawnguard some more consideration, but before I committed to tearing this old wound open again, I needed both proof and a motive for this supposed vampire uprising.  There was clearly _something_ out there that required addressing, but I needed to know if I could best do my part for my homeland as a full-fledged vampire hunter, or by remaining an unaffiliated mercenary.  I had to track down whatever it was that had those vampires riled up.  That particular trail began at the Hall of the Vigilant, or so my gut told me.  The simple truth was that the Vigil of Stendarr was not a big enough threat to warrant being singled out and purposefully stamped out, as Celann claimed it had been.  There had to be something there, some other reason why vampires would mount what certainly sounded like a full-scale assault against a relatively minor nuisance.  Perhaps something that would shed some light on their reasoning.  It was worth investigating.

 

 _Plus, the Hall is not exactly out of the way..._   I mused as I took a bite out of an apple, chewing the fruit thoughtfully while my eyes traced a route from Solitude to the city of Riften, on the other side of Skyrim.  It would take at least a week, more likely closer to two, to make my way to fort Dawnguard, but at least investigating the Hall would not require much of a detour on my part.  Even if I found nothing there, I could at least take a moment and pay my respect to the fallen.  There was a core of genuine righteousness and caring under the Vigil’s pompous and self-important discourses.  The warrior in me simply had trouble taking a group seriously when they, for example, refused to use blades so they would not shed the blood of their Daedric preys, claiming it tainted the very ground of Nirn.  Fanatical zeal and religious devotion were no substitute for rigorous discipline and exhaustive training.

 

My mind made up, I stole a glance at my companion.  The promise of food had finally drawn Lyna from the lingering warmth of the covers, and once she was dressed she had dug into her meal with great aplomb, wolfing down eggs, ham and toast.  Filling her empty stomach had cheered her up somewhat from my earlier refusal, and though I would hazard a guess she was not strictly happy, she looked composed and none the worse for wear, for which I was grateful.  In fact, she seemed quite fascinated with the assortment of weapons and armour pieces laid down in precise order a few feet away.  Particularly captivating was the unusual, highly compact crossbow I, and the Dawnguard, favoured over more traditional ranged weapons.  While a skilled archer could knock and loose arrows quicker than even my practiced hands could load and arm a bolt in a crossbow, the weapon had advantages, especially in more crowded or claustrophobic environments such as caves or tombs, haunts vampires tend to favour.  For one, it was far less cumbersome than a bow for its range and power, and unlike a bow, it could remain cocked and ready to fire at a moment’s notice.  The sturdy wooden stock was also quite handy in a pinch, as evidenced by the several cracks that splintered the surface of the weapon, scars left over by a great many skulls I had used it to cave in.  It was well worn, and to be perfectly honest nearing the end of its life; it had served me well over the years, but I lacked the know-how to properly maintain it.  No matter what I attempted, it pulled to the right now, and although it remained almost comically reliable in its inaccuracy, I knew the day was drawing near when I would have to retire the crossbow from my arsenal and find a replacement.

 

“I thought you were just a mercenary.  Are you a vampire hunter as well?”  Lyna finally asked me in between spoonfuls of oatmeal and snowberries, surprising me.  Again, someone who recognised the tools of my former trade by sight.  Had the vampire situation deteriorated to the point where ordinary citizens would know and welcome the sight of a member of the order?  How could I have missed it?

 

“I used to be.”  I replied, feeling curious.  “How did you know?  Do you recognise anything?”

 

“Yes.”  The Redguard said, her eyes still locked on the crossbow, which she pointed out of my assortment.

 

“Here?”  I asked and picked up the weapon from the table, handing it to her so she could satisfy her own curiosity.  “You saw a crossbow in Solitude?”  Whatever Dawnguard member she had seen would have been a long way from home, but it was not impossible by any stretch of the imagination; such a large urban center is sure to house any number of the fiends at once.  Cities are rich hunting grounds, both for them, and for those hunting the hunters.

 

“Yes.  Maybe two or three winters ago, there was a rash of murders in the more rundown parts of the city.  The victims were mostly foreign beggars and whores, so of course, the watch didn’t give a skeever’s rear end about it.”  Lyna replied a bit distractedly, looking captivated by the intricate mechanism she was holding.  I hear that once upon a time crossbows saw fairly wide use, but these days, they were rare, exotic weapons few people bothered with, not when a bow provided a much simpler option for ranged combat.  Plus, despite her current occupation, she was still a Redguard, a people rightfully renowned to be the most naturally gifted warriors in Tamriel.  It is said any weapon would find its home in their hands.  “Three men carrying bows like this one approached me and a few other girls about it, though.  They said the ones guilty of those murders were vampires, and they needed our help to find them and put them out of our misery.”

 

“What happened?”  I asked.  “Did you know something?”

 

“I didn’t.  Neither did any of my friends at the time, but I do recall hearing about a well-to-do merchant found floating in the bay with a few of those little arrows sticking out of his back not long after.”  Lyna said, looking grimly pleased by this fact.  “There should have been an inquiry, but the court wizard intervened.  She declared he was a vampire, and that whoever killed him had done Solitude a favour.” 

 

 _Sybille Stentor..._   I thought with a slight narrowing of my eyes, remembering the frightened, hushed whispers clinging to the court wizard’s every step.  _Yes, if the rumours about you are true, you_ would not _object to a competing predator being put to death, especially in your own city._   Magic can only lengthen a life for so long before longevity begins to look suspicious, and the woman had all but whelped the _former_ King, to say nothing of the odd prisoner vanishing from the castle dungeon from time to time...

 

Lyna handed me back the crossbow, and I in turn laid it back down amongst my arsenal, in between the quiver of bolts and the plastron of my armour.  The young woman’s gaze scoured every gleaming surface and every sharp edge, taking in every scratch and every small tear of my well-traveled gear, the few remnants of her breakfast all but forgotten.  The corner of my mouth quirking indulgently, I asked her if she wanted to help me get outfitted.  Morning _was_ slowly but surely getting away from me, after all. 

 

Surprisingly, Lyna made for a competent assistant, her mind catching on to the logic and workings of my armour as swiftly as it had learned those of my body.  In minutes she was helping me strap down the russet arming coat I wore under the vest of plated mail protecting my chest, and making sure every strap and buckle was securely tied.  Then came the pauldrons, both of them adorned with the sigil of a different deity, one of the few embellishments the armour featured.  The left one, worn over the shield arm, was emblazoned with the symbol of Stendarr, all members of the Dawnguard pledging their shield to the defence of the meek, the weak and innocent unable to protect themselves from the nightmares the night spewed forth.  The right one, covering the shoulder of the sword arm, bore the sigil of Arkay, god of the dead, to whom vampires and undeads were aberrations; just like the shield arm was pledged to Stendarr, the sword arm carried out the sworn duty of the Dawnguard, to return vampires to Arkay’s cycle of life and death. 

 

Lyna looked quizzical when she finished securing the pauldrons over my shoulders.  “Those are not Nordic deities.”  She pointed out astutely.  “They’re Cyrodiilic, are they not?”

 

“Good eye.”  I congratulated her as I gave the leather straps a tug.  “You are correct.  The Dawnguard is not a Nordic organisation, or rather the current incarnation is not.”  There was a sordid story behind the original Nordic order of vampire hunters, one dating back an era or two, and I was none too proud of it.  The current one was largely mirroring the Cyrodiilic Order of Virtuous Blood, at least when it came to the ritualistic and spiritual aspect of hunting vampires.  “The head of the order is actually one of your kinsmen.  They were influenced by a number of similar societies and orders all across Tamriel.”

 

“Ah.”  She nodded, her gaze still on the sigil of Arkay adorning my right shoulder.  “Which one do you consider your patron deity?  Arkay, or Stendarr?”

 

“Kyne.”  I replied without hesitation.  Yes, once upon a time, I did serve these two gods on a practically daily, or rather nightly, basis, but my heart has always belonged to Kyne, the mistress of storms and ruler of the sky.

 

“Not Kynareth?”  Lyna asked, and I shook my head.  No, I meant Kyne, the Nordic fierce Nordic deity, not the tamer Imperial version popular in the lands to the south.  As a woman who lives by the sword, having a matron goddess, as merciless as she was breathtakingly beautiful, speaks to me on many levels.  “I suppose there _had_ to be one authentically Nord about you somewhere.”  She ruefully muttered under her breath.

 

“I am not sure I appreciate the implications of that last statement, girl.”  I told her with a mixture of amusement and reproach.  I knew what she meant, but those were still my kin she was talking about.  I was not fond of our newfound isolationism, but I liked to think there were some Nord values worth embracing, no matter what colour your skin or the blood in your veins.

 

Flustered, and looking very conscious of the foot she had just stuffed in her mouth, Lyna shuffled away from me under the guise of fetching my plated mail vest.  A warning about its weight died on the tip of my tongue, her sudden, surprised grunt of effort a small revenge on my part.  Smirking, I shrugged on and buckled the mail she painstakingly handed me with smug ease, feeling more comfortable with the armour on than I did without it a few moments ago.  That would change after a few days’ travel, but now that I was well rested, well fed and sated, I had begun looking forward to getting back out on the road.  As I said, wanderlust.

 

The only parts of my armour I did not trust Lyna or anyone else with were my several belts, and the assortment of pouches, sheaths and quivers hanging off them.  I always put them on myself, in exactly the same order and fashion.  The small ritual was not performed out of any particular obsession; rather, experience taught me it would not do to fumble clumsily for a bolt on the wrong hip, or to coat its tip with an ointment meant to treat burns rather than a paralysing poison.  In the middle of battle, familiarity with one’s own gear could mean the difference between life and death.  For the same reason, I still used the armour, weapons and most of the methods and techniques of the Dawnguard, despite the constant reminder of what I had lost they represented.  Sentimentality has no place in a struggle to the death, and I would rather not rearrange my tried and true fighting style to fit new equipment over a little heartache.

 

The first belt I put on, the broadest and sturdiest, carried my weapons, most notably my sword, dagger, as well as the quiver of bolts I used for my crossbow.  From the second one hung a number of pouches and satchels, containing the alchemical concoctions that could give me the edge I needed when the odds were stacked against me; stimulants for those long nights the hunt drags on, brews that could decuple a man’s strength, vision and reflex enhancers that made an archer capable of pinning a mockingbird in flight at a hundred paces (metaphorically, of course, stop looking at me like that), and perhaps most importantly draughts that could stop hemorrhages and help mend broken bones.  Opposite those were the vials of poisons I frequently coated the tips of my bolts with.  Most Nords eschewed the idea of employing toxins against an opponent, finding the practice dishonourable somehow, but I embraced both aspects of alchemy, the life-giving and the life-taking, equally.  A poisoned bolt from a crossbow would slow anyone down. 

 

The third and last belt I wore across my chest like a bandolier, and it was easily the strangest, the sight of it feeding Lyna’s curiosity until it was all but palpable.  No weapon or pouch hung from it; instead, its sole purpose was to bear a mechanism a little larger than my outstretched hand, a little marvel of engineering my old comrade, and former lover, Sorine Jurard had designed and hand-crafted.  The Breton woman was a genius tinkerer, with a sometimes unhealthy obsession for the technology of the Dwemer, the long extinct race of deep elves.  That obsession had served the Dawnguard well in the past, providing the order with a bleeding technological edge, one of the most useful of which was their shield.  Based on the same principles as some of the ‘simpler’ Dwemer automatons, the shield was made up of three concentric layers of overlapping metal blades. When in use, it looked like most any other targe carried by warriors favouring a ‘sword and board’ approach to melee fighting, but its apparent simplicity bellied the wonders of reverse engineering that had gone into its design.  With a simple flick of the wrist it would fold upon itself, allowing it to become no larger than a small buckler for an improved ease of transport, which is where the contraption on the final belt came in.  Its long metal claws could fit into grooves on the back of the shield and lock it into place on my back without need for a sling, and just as easily release it in case a hasty change of tactics was required.  Quite handy in a pinch, and just like the crossbow was less cumbersome than a conventional bow, when it came to raiding a vampire nest, oftentimes smaller was better. 

 

Suffice to say that if the crossbow had fascinated Lyna, demonstrating how the shield worked positively made her swoon, at least after she gave a startled shriek when the metal wings began folding onto themselves.  I hung the shield with a smooth, practiced swing of my arm, releasing the bindings with confidence once I heard the familiar click of the mechanism locking it into place.

 

“That is... incredible!”  Lyna gushed, fascination making her deep brown eyes shimmer gleefully. 

 

“It is.”  I said distractedly, my gaze lost in the distance, focused on the past.  How strange.  In the past six years, I had outfitted myself exactly the same way hundreds of times, and yet this morning my little ritual seemed momentous, significant.

 

 _If you do rejoin the Dawnguard, you will get to see Sorine again._   I told myself, finally allowing the one thought I had pushed aside all night and all morning.  I sighed, momentarily lost in memories of the other woman I both dreaded and cherished. 

 

I remembered the day we had met vividly.  Sorine had been an associate of Isran long before I came into the picture, and when the idea of reforming the Dawnguard first took shape in his mind, he sent me, his apprentice, out in Skyrim, searching for the help we would need.  One of them was a young Breton prodigy who had poured her people’s renowned intellect into her pursuit of Dwemer technology, or so Isran had told me.  When I did manage to track her down, I found Sorine on the bank of a river running close to Markarth, raging against crabs, of all things.  Needless to say, hearing a future member accusing common mudcrabs of stealing her satchel had not left the best first impression on me back then, but I quickly found out, once I fetched her bag she had merely misplaced, that her quirks of personality did not change the fact she was brilliant, and actually reliable in a fight.  Despite her tendency to get distracted by shiny objects, we had gotten along well enough for me to end up as her favourite test subject, whenever I returned to the fort between hunts and other assignments.  Of course, Isran had wanted her expertise to craft weapons and other tools for our use, so helping her test her contraptions had resulted in one or two of the scars criss-crossing my body.  It had also lead to her semi-guiltily visiting me while I recovered, a few blushes when she was present during a dressing change, and eventually many passion-filled embraces over the years.  While I would not say that I was head-over-heels in love with her, she was doubtlessly the woman I cared the most deeply about in the past decade...

 

 _“I know you’re upset right now, but you’re not thinking this through.  We do good work here._ I _do good work here.  If I go with you, some day, we’re all going to regret it.”_

 

...  Or at least she was, until the day I was excommunicated from the Dawnguard, and she protested vehemently in my defense, only to refuse to leave with me when all was said and done.

 

“Is... something the matter?”  Lyna asked me after a few seconds.

 

“Hmm?  No.”  I shook my head and snapped out of my ruminations, my nose somehow filled with the sweet scent of Sorine’s hair, the salty taste of her skin dancing on the tip of my tongue.  “Could you hand me my gloves?”

 

With my crossbow slung on my back, my cloak covering my shoulder and my satchel beating rhythmically at my flank, I left Lyna in my room with a purse of gold several times larger than what she normally charged her clients.  Even if the inn was not a proper brothel, if such a thing can exist, it was simply ridiculous for her patron to charge so little, his earlier greed leading me to believe he kept most if not all of the profits from his girls.  Maybe it could give her an out, if she played her cards right.  She had a quick mind that one, even if she was still innocent.  Maybe she could find herself an apprenticeship with one of Solitude’s blacksmith or another craftsman’s guild. 

 

The marketplace was my next stop, first and foremost so I could tell the local alchemist I would not be needing the laboratory in my room any longer, and he could send his assistant to fetch it.  Next was the butcher shop, where I picked up what I calculated was enough rations of cured venison to get me to Riften and halfway back, and then the bakery for a loaf of bread and traveling biscuits, as well as a slice of goat cheese.  The bread and cheese I could eat first before they spoiled, while the rest of the food would keep fresh for a while longer.  It was better to put off eating those as long as possible; I’m not a particularly picky palate myself, but even I could grow tired of rations on long treks.  More telling of their taste than the endurance of my stomach, but it beat wasting time hunting my food, even if I was an accomplished huntress of edible preys as well as undead fiends. 

 

The sun had fully risen by the time I finished my preparations for the journey ahead, and made my way to the main Solitude gate, getting harassed by street peddlers and assorted beggars along the way, as well as a lone urchin who made a pass at my purse of gold.  The young rascal got quite the fright when he found himself hoisted off the ground and nearly face-to-face with me, glaring until he lowered his gaze in shame.  With a harsh huff of annoyance I dropped the teenager down and gave him a shove.  The would-be pickpocket stumbled, but his scramble to get away from me before I called the guards was interrupted by a sharp whistle.  He turned around, just in time to catch the septim I tossed him.  I might not appreciate thieves, but I disliked starving children even more.  The lone gold piece could feed him for a few days, if he was smart about spending it.

 

The view outside the south Solitude gate was as wearying as it was grandiose.  The southern edges of the city rested upon a sheer cliff edge, ending in a massive stone arch where the Blue Palace, the former residence of Skyrim’s High King, laid its foundation.  The northern sea made its sinewy way inland below, irrigating acres and acres of salty marches, filled with twisted, hardy plants and gloomy shadows hiding much of Skyrim’s most vicious animal life.  I had gotten to know them well in recent weeks, and if there was a single solace in this whole affair I was about to plunge headfirst into, it was that at long last I would not be heading that way, and spending days at a time drenched and frozen to the bone.

 

There was a soft slant to the road making its way down to the low valley below from the main, second and third gates, taking me to the stables set up in a decent-sized artificial clearing turned into pasture, spread out in the lowlands surrounding Solitude.  Three scores of horses, of all shapes and sizes, grazed and paced the large enclosure maintained for them on the side of the stables’ outbuilding, peaceful and lazy in the mid-morning sun.  Confidently, I pushed the rough wooden fence open and strolled in, many pair of equine eyes settling nervously on me, a few of the horses even going as far as huffing and rearing, to the dismay of their caretakers.

 

“Ah, good day, Lady Eleanor.”  One of the stable boys, a young man of Imperial descent I recognised from prior visits approached me, breathless from his run to my side, having left the others struggling to calm down the riled beasts.  In fact, it seemed that a lone palomino stallion, towering above every other horse in the enclosure, had kept its calm since my arrival. 

 

“Julius.”  I nodded to him as he fell into step with me.  “I am taking Frost out this morning.  Please saddle him up.”

 

“You are?  That’s... good.  The poor boy has been looking anxious to stretch his legs for the past few days.”  He replied, trying to sound neutral and failing.  His tone was rather discomfited. 

 

“Is something wrong with him?”  I asked, though the young man did not look nearly nervous enough for me to worry.  “I will be quite cross with you if anything happened to my mount on your watch.”  I said with a sharp teasing note.

 

“No, no!  I would never dream of letting any harm come to him, my lady!  I swear on my honour!  I’m just... just sad to see him go, my lady.”  He finally admitted, just as we reached the lone calm horse in the enclosure, the tall palomino stallion, my dearest Frost.  “He’s such a good horse that one.  Makes the lot of them look like overgrown skittish sucklings.”  Julius grunted over his shoulder at a young Nord woman who just narrowly avoided a kick from a nervous mare, falling flat on her rump in the process.  “By Talos, I’m sorry you have to see this.  I have no idea what’s gotten into them this morning.” 

 

 _I may have a clue what did..._   I thought, averting my eyes from the commotion surrounding us.

 

“I’ll fetch your saddle right away.”  Julius sighed and declared, breaking off a long, wistful look at my horse, and leaving me alone with the only companion I had kept since the day I left the order all those years ago.  Frost’s grand sire had been a gift to my father some time before my birth, and ever since that day his bloodline had been a part of the Stormblade estate.  Like his own father before him, Frost’s name had been handed down from his sire, a right only the most exceptional foal we bred could earn.  Nearing ten years of age, he was as solid as a stallion could be, and more disciplined than any war horse.  My pride and joy, he was one of two things I had gladly kept once the estate came to me, the other being my father’s sword sheathed at my hip.  The rest I had left in my home city of Whiterun, a prosperous commerce hub far to the south east, on the central plains, entrusted to the care of Fjorli, a childhood friend and my current Housecarl.  I seldom visited my own home these days; too many memories, and far too many failed expectations. 

 

“Will you be gone for long, my lady?”  Julius asked me once he was done saddling Frost.

 

“I will be leaving Solitude for a few weeks at least, yes.”  I answered the discomfited young man who stepped aside to let me load up the saddle bags with an assortment of provisions and camping equipment.  “Thank you for taking good care of him, Julius.”  I gratefully patted the young man’s shoulder, Frost echoing my sentiment with a friendly nudge of his massive head that nearly toppled his caretaker.  Blushing, he muttered a response and reluctantly bid me farewell, before turning away and dashing to open the gate for me, casting Frost a mournful look as the steed and I passed him.  He promptly snapped out of his longing stupor once I was out of the enclosure, reminding himself of his comrades’ distress and diving headfirst into a fray of riled horses and colourful curses.

 

“Quite the charm you cast on that one.”  I ruefully told Frost, though I suspected he could sense the unease I felt at the scene my arrival had caused.  I could only hope none of them had made any rapprochement between my presence and the horses’ frightened frenzy.

 

Fortunately for me, a dull, distant noise shook the air just as I left, conveniently assigning blame to a wholly different scapegoat.  All eyes instantly flew upwards towards the sky, just in time to see the dragon swoop in over the bay, its bone shaking roar causing a fresh wave of nervous whinnying to erupt from the stables.  The wyrm was not an impressive specimen of its kind, only about thirty feet long from muzzle to tail, and with a wingspan to match.  Moldy green scales covered its slithering body, while black, bony spikes protruded from the length of its spine.  Rows of jagged teeth filled its gaping mouth, on obvious display for the benefit of all the mortals below.  It was only posturing, of course.  No dragon had dared openly attacking a human settlement since the defeat of the World-Eater, the almighty semi-god Alduin.

 

The Dragonborn I mentioned may be famous for turning the tide of the civil war in the Stormcloak’s favour, but it was his victory in Sovngarde, the realm awaiting most Nords in the afterlife, of that most terrible of foes, that had inscribed his name in legends.  Venturing past the doors of death to enlist the aid of the heroes who had cast adrift the dragon in the currents of times millennia ago, he had finally put an end to one of the greatest threat ever to befall the whole of Mundus.  Upon his return, he found every single dragon alive had gathered upon the slopes of the Throat of the world, the highest mountain in Tamriel located in the center of Skyrim, awaiting word of their king’s return.  To say the wyrms were surprised to see a mortal emerge from the portal to Sovngarde, in Alduin’s stead, would be the understatement of the era.  Fate, and its sense of humour at work.

 

Rather than a massive battle to end all battles, one that would have likely ended with many dead dragons and one human martyr, the terms of the Dragon Pact were established that day.  Using the power of the Voice, the Dragonborn declared to the whole of Skyrim that the World-Eater was defeated, and the dragon crisis over.  Rather forcefully, he struck a bargain with the dragons that, as long as they lived in relative peace with men and mer, their race would not be hunted back into extinction.  Not the most beneficial agreement for a race of quasi-immortal predators who once ruled the whole of Mundus with a fist of iron.  Still, with furious cries of “Dovahkiin”, the dragons submitted to the mortal who fell their king, proving once and for all that he was the strongest, worthy of every title his exploits brought upon him.  Harbinger, Dovahkiin, Ysmir, Stormblade...  I had an altogether simpler name for him.  Father.

 

“You know the law, wyrm.”  The world around me faded from my awareness as dragon tongue flowed quietly from my lips, its power quaking the ground, imperceptibly within the drowning roar of the dragon circling overhead.  My hand came to rest on the pommel of my sword, a blade that had to be infamous amongst dragon-kind for all of their blood it had shed in my father’s hands.  “Do not test your boundaries.  Leave.”  It made no sense for the dragon to hear me, but the Voice and the dragon tongue are peculiar like that.  Reptilian eyes filled with scorn fixed on me with a murderous intensity, flaring with recognition.  I stared back unflinchingly, my blood thrumming with the need to fight and conquer the pathetic foe that dared to challenge me, my muscles steady and relaxed with the confidence that I was the stronger of the two.

 

“Leave or by Kyne, I will make you understand mortality.”  I snapped at it, using its roar to cover up the sudden thunderclap of my own Thu’um from prying ears, a reflex I had learned brow-beating young, weak dragons like this one into leaving populated areas.  The older, and actually dangerous, ones, strictly kept to remote, mountainous regions, and to themselves.  Whether they were happy or not with the status quo was anyone’s guess, but I had a feeling they feared the gods would once again side with man if they tried to achieve their former dominion, as they had long ago when our ancestors were enslaved by dragon-kind.  It was within their power to allow the blood of Akatosh to flow freely into mortal veins, appointing other Dovahkiin the task of exterminating the wyrms once and for all.    Only the younger, weaker dragons felt insecure enough in their power to flaunt it to humans and elves they terrified, rather than each other.

 

There was a dissonant note in my voice when I forced the word for ‘mortality’ in the dragon tongue, a concept that was alien to the death-defying flying lizards, and by extension the language that was utterly intrinsic to them.  The dragon word for mortality had been created by men, eras ago, as a means to combat dragons.  Simply hearing it assaulted a dragon’s very soul, to the point where pouring my Thu’um into it could turn it into a Shout infinitely unpleasant for a wyrm to be on the receiving end of.  If that particular runt thought he was the exception, he was wrong, as he quickly found out.  Even without shouting it, pronouncing that word had made him flinch, and wisely break eye contact with me.  With a final, half-hearted roar, a prideful attempt to get the last word in, the wyrm turned tail and flew away like a beaten dog.  Only once he disappeared beyond the horizon and the last echo his presence had caused faded did a strange, hollow sense of disappointment set in.  My own dragon soul had been looking forward to putting that runt in his place, namely six feet under.

 

 _And Mora knows how many of these men would have died in the process._   I berated myself for my eagerness to provoke the wyrm, and took a deep breath to shake off the last of my bloodlust.  Letting my hand drift away from the hilt of my sword, I took a quick look around, noticing nervous and relieved guards putting away bows and arrows I had been too absorbed in my staring contest to notice.  With one leather clad hand I rubbed my face to help center myself as I exhaled, long and slow.  _Breath and focus_ , I reminded myself, _control the Thu’um, control the blood, do not let them control you_.

 

With a last glance at the quieting stables, I slipped my left foot in Frost’s stirrup and hoisted myself up his considerable height, settling heavily on the saddle.  The stallion never buckled, taking my weight and that of my gear without as much as a blink.  Absently, I gave him a rough, affectionate rub of his white mane, before steering him down the road, eastward, towards the nearby town of Dragon’s Bridge, the first stop on my journey to the Hall of the Vigilants. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Even though it took two days’ travel to reach the hall, I could not say that the journey was wholly unpleasant.  Opportunities to ride had been few and far between in the past month, a horse being poorly adapted to traitorous swampy terrain, like the Haafingar marshes, and I had missed Frost’s silent companionship.  The rhythm of his hooves, beating the paved road at a smooth trot he could keep up for days at a time, was a familiar and welcome background noise, complementing the splendid views of the jagged mountains and pine-filled valleys of my homeland.  I never tired of traveling these roads, of witnessing Skyrim’s harsh beauty.  Under the cold, bright rays of the sun, and comfortable within the confines of a heavy cloak, lined with the warm winter coat of a sabercat, I could nearly forget the darkness of this journey’s purpose.  There was not a dragon in the sky, (or a cloud, I mentally added, pausing for a beat to wonder what twists and turns my fate must have taken for me to make note of the absence of wyrms before the clemency of the weather), not even a lone bandit surged upon the road to spoil my time alone with my horse and my land.  Nothing to remind me I was not a traveller out for a stroll, and that somewhere defenceless families huddled together in absolute terror of the darkness left behind as the sun dipped below the horizon.

 

The Hall had been built at the foot of one of Skyrim’s more humbly sized mountains, far from the shadow cast by the colossal Throat of the World.  Twilight had just begun to set in by the time I arrived at the fork in the road that led, up a gentle slope, to the headquarters of the Vigil.  It had been a steady climb all the way, and having left Solitude and its more temperate climate far behind, banks of snow covered the ground around, catching the dusky light and igniting it with gorgeous hues of purple, pink and orange.  The night would be clear and cold, perfect for Skyrim’s renowned aurora borealis, a grandiose spectacle I had enjoyed many times over the years. 

 

_My hands shivered from the cold despite the roaring fire before me, the chill in the air robbing me of the dexterity I need to properly tie my bow’s string.  My breath came and went in quick, annoyed puffs of mist as my frustration at the simple task eluding me grew.  Across from me, my mother sat wiping the blade of a large hunting knife clean, the steaming carcass of the dear she had brought down sitting some distance behind, the meat and pelt expertly stripped clean so little more than bloody bones and viscera remained for the scavengers.  It should have been my kill, but today’s lesson had not been well remembered; I had, of all things, managed to snap my bowstring at the most critical moment, the noise spooking the prey I had in my sights.  She had stepped in like the force of nature she was, notching her arrow and drawing back her own, considerably more powerful bow in a single, inhumanly fluid and rapid motion it would take me years to match.  The deer was dead before it hit the ground.  We would not be going home empty-handed, but that was as cold a comfort to the childish pride of a twelve-year old girl as the biting air of the forest._

_With a good-natured sigh at the sight of my growing anger, and my raw fingertips, my mother sheathed her knife and circled the fire, taking a moment to rummage through our packs for a blanket before she sat next to me, wrapping it around both of us._

_“You would have had him, had your string not snapped.”  She told me, her eyes all but shimmering with motherly pride I did not feel I deserved.  The woman who gave me birth was not soft, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she always had a kind word for me, a gentle look, an encouraging touch.  There was much she expected from me, much the world expected from me, but she always made sure my spine never did bend under the weight.  “You tracked him well, your approach was perfect, and even your stance was beyond reproach.  You followed everything I taught you to the letter.  It was simply bad luck, Astlyr.  There is always tomorrow.”  She assured me with a comforting rub of my shoulders, pulling my shivering body closer into her warmth._

_Above us, the inky black sky filled with stars as the sun finished its course below the horizon, and before my wonderstruck eyes, clouds of light and colour filled Kyne’s domain.  My wounded pride was instantly forgotten in that magical moment shared with the only blood family I had left..._

 

My mother had loved auroras as well.

 

_Sky above, has it really been twenty years already?_ I bit back a melancholy sigh before it could make it past my lips, shaking off my nostalgia for simpler times like a dusting of snowflakes.  With a cluck of the tongue and a few minute squeezes of his flanks, I brought Frost to a halt before he could begin the final climb.  Although I could fight on horseback decently enough, my mount was not properly outfitted to carry me into battle, and so close to our destination, I did not want to risk being caught off guard if we were ambushed.  Fresh snow covering the road’s rough paving stones crunched beneath my boots, though I did not sink deep enough into the icy powdery for it to seriously hamper my movements.  An assembly of tree branches and animal bones greeted me as I rounded the last corner leading to the natural alcove where the Hall was sheltered.  It was crudely constructed, consisting simply of a goat skull propped up on a few twigs and splattered with a few drops of blood, but I recognised it immediately for what it was; an ominous warning to stay away, flying straight out of the deepest, darkest corner of our history.

 

 I gritted my teeth at the sight, the edges of my field of vision going red with rage.  It was not the first time I had seen one of those before the site of a slaughter.  Totems like this one were, as far as I am concerned, evidence of one of the clearest and most unfortunate consequence of Skyrim’s secession from the Empire.  With Imperial culture and rigid rationality being rejected and flushed from ours, Nord folk tales and superstitions had gotten a new lease on life, and a new hold on Skyrim’s hearts and minds.  Fear had driven every witness, every traveler passing through these parts who could have lent a helping hand away.  In all likelihood no one had dared to look for survivors, or even to enter the hall and give the Vigilants who died in its defence the last rites they deserved.  Nords may value honour and glory in battle, but apparently their foe had to be _made_ of living flesh and blood, rather than _hungry_ for living flesh and blood, for my kinsmen to even consider putting up a fight rather than turn tail and run.

 

I resisted the urge to crush the totem beneath my heel, but just barely, and only because I did not want to give away my approach.  Thickly swallowing the rage coating my throat, I angrily stalked past it, Frost falling into step behind me without any need to tug on his reins.  We purposefully crossed the few dozen yards separating us from what was left of the hall of the Vigilants, and as the structure came into view, I was forced to reassess my opinion of whatever milk-drinking coward had built and lain down the warning.  In the rapidly dimming twilight, in the shadow of the mountain, the blackened and twisted husk looked foreboding, even to me.  Most of the structure had been burned down to the ground; only the foundation and a few planks of the walls had survived the fire, like charred bones jutting out of a shallow grave, and not a trace of the thatch roof remaining beyond cinders greying neighbouring snow banks. 

 

“Wait for me.”  I turned around and looked deep into Frost’s black eyes.  Despite a reassuring brush of my fingers against the small diamond-shaped mark on his forehead, the only break in the light, uniform gold of his coat, the stallion huffed worriedly at me, his ears darting around warily.  “I know.  I can smell it too.”  I told him.  My nostrils flared as I drew closer to the remains of the building.  There was no smoke, of course, not so long after the facts, but death hung heavy in the air, a subtle but pervasive stench not even the invigorating gusts of pure mountain air rolling down the cliff side could blow away. 

 

Less subtle was the blood of one of the defenders splattered on the few steps leading to the large oaken double-doors, congealed into a dark and slippery pool by the frigid weather.  It was easy to trace back to its source, a dead vigilant lying face down in the threshold of the Hall, his entrails spilled from a gaping gash in his abdomen.  I closed the last of the distance with a heavy heart, drawing back my hood and folding back my cloak so I could free up my sword arm.  Just as a precaution.  The day had yet to fully give way to night, but I had no intention of ending up another victim, and if my intuitions were correct, there could yet be vampires in close proximity.  Sun or no, when one says ‘vampire’ one also says ‘thrall’, or mentally enslaved daylight guardian, a disgusting and depraved commodity few vampires decided to go without.  An attack was not outside the realm of possibilities.

 

Using my freed hand, I rolled the body around so it faced me, and I could get a better sense of the man’s last moments.  He was garbed in the regular attire of the vigil, loose hooded robes strategically enchanted and reinforced with discreet armour pieces, including greaves and a pair of steel wrist guards.  Not the most thorough protection, but I knew from experience that every Vigilant had more than a fleeting knowledge of magic, and could supplement their defensive needs through spells.  It had made no difference for him in the end, however.  The slice in his stomach was too clean to have been made by claws or anything other than either a wickedly strong and sharp blade or a shoddier one wielded by someone of exceptional strength.  He was very nearly halfway cleaved in two, as a matter of fact.

 

_No other wound..._   I frowned at the sight of his comparatively intact back, and its implications.  The lone injury, while lethal, would not have killed the man instantly, far from it, yet none of the attackers had bothered to finish him off.  Possibly, this was due to the fact they had been busy with his comrades, but all evidence so far suggested the aggressors had had the element of surprise, and the assault had taken place swiftly and with overwhelming brutality; the way the Vigilant’s mace was still hanging by his side, the fact that only he was outside and most of the actual fighting seemed to have taken place indoor, the lack of score marks or stuck arrows indicating misses with spells and bows on the stonework or any of the rocky terrain surrounding the hall.  Yet this man had been left to bleed out in the cold, no one having bothered with the small mercy of burying a blade in his heart.  It took an unusual amount of cruelty, to have the skill to take a life but choose to do so in such a drawn out manner.  No warrior worth the title left an opponent in agony; it was part of the code of conduct shared by all who lived by the sword.  Meeting someone on the battlefield meant granting them a swift death, and expecting the same courtesy in return. 

 

There was little point in taking a peek inside the hall proper, but I pushed the doors and let myself in nonetheless, a hand cautiously resting on the hilt of my sword.  The interior was every bit as ruined as the exterior suggested, the rows of pews leading to the main altar blackened and scorched.  Charred corpses were strewn every which way, some of them whole and some of them... not.  All of them wore the remnants of vigilant armour, but I knew it did not mean they had not taken any of their attackers’ with them.  The fire had licked the very stones of the floor and foundation, leaving almost no evidence behind, nothing that even hinted at a vampire attack; vampire bodies, lighting up like kindling, would have been fully cremated, turning them to ashes that would be indistinguishable from the soot surrounding me.

 

A search of the living quarters, the kitchen, the library and even the small, nearly empty armoury revealed nothing of any use, not that I expected it to.  The opportunity to say a prayer for the fallen Vigilants had been my true motivation for entering the Hall.  Constantly, the litany of Stendarr spilled from my lips, the verses recited from memory commanding every valiant soul that perished in the sanctum to their god.  It was not until I exited through a door leading to a small open courtyard, that I found all the evidence I needed this slaughter was indeed the work of vampires.

 

Even from thirty feet away, I could tell her soul had long since departed her body.  The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties, about my age, or perhaps just a few years older.  Blond hair streaked with a few stray strands of grey framed her face, twisted in the horror of her last moments, matted in both sweat and blood, congealed in semi-solid clumps.  She was naked, entirely so, her hands bound above her head, her muscular legs spread-eagled and also tied up.  Barbed vine-like ropes, secured to ebonite stakes engraved with ominous symbols I found familiar but did not recognise, had cut deeply enough into her wrists and ankles that blood had seeped from them.  The snow surrounding her was practically pristine, despite the fact her arms and torso were covered in bloody, gnarly bite marks, clearly vampiric in origin, as were her conspicuously battered and bruised thighs.  Her glassy eyes stared into nothingness, her eyelids pale and cyanosed, as were her torn lips and the extremities of her fingers and toes.  No cause of death was immediately obvious, not that it really mattered; I could not help but wonder as I reached for her face, my fingers reverently brushing her eyes close, though they trembled with outrage at what those monsters had done to this Vigilant. Was she raped to death?  Bled dry?  Or was she left for dead until exposure eventually finished what her aggressors had started?  Whatever the case may be, it was no proper way for a warrior to die.

 

A black mark over the nameless woman’s breast drew my eye, a sigil branded into her skin I recognised from studies long ago.  It was a single word, written in the daedric alphabet, the name of one of the Princes of Oblivions, Molag Bal, whose sphere of influence was domination, power, enslavement and rape.  She clearly had been... offered, to the daedra lord.  This was a ritualistic sacrifice, an offering to one of the most reviled beings Oblivion ever had the misfortune of spewing forth.

 

“A Daedra-worshipping cult of vampires?”  I muttered under my breath, dabbing at the moisture threatening to spill from my eyes with the back of a clenched fist.  “Followers of Molag Bal, of all things?  Could the damn leeches not go knocking on Meridia’s door?”

 

My throat felt thick with sorrow as I used my dagger to cut the Vigilant free, heavier than her body I hoisted up and carried back inside, where her comrades had fallen in battle, the death she had been denied.  Setting her free was a waste of sunlight at this point, or so the pragmatic part of me said, but I could not find it in my heart to leave the violated woman where she was.  The desecrated altar where I gently laid the vigilant was blackened with soot but still solid, still more than able to take her weight.  A second shorter trip, filled with fewer curses and swears, later and I had the body of her comrade lying outside sitting by her side, the man’s frozen remains too rigid to be laid down by the woman’s side.  They made a pitiful, heart-breaking scene, but under the circumstances, a summary cremation in keeping with their faith was the best I could offer them.  I bent the knee before them in respect, reciting the litany of Stendarr one last time, and before I rose and headed out, I lifted a hand to my lips and murmured a single draconic word, “YOL”, in my open palm.  Despite my somber mood, my blood sang joyfully as my Thu’um, a part of the primordial energy of Nirn the gods had invested in me upon my birth, responded to the call of the dragon tongue.  The air I had inhaled spilled out of my chest as a small but impossibly fierce bluish flame, ignited seemingly out of thin air, hovering and swirling a fraction of an inch from my gloved skin.  It was a dragon’s flame, hot enough to melt a slab of solid stone if I willed it, but my Thu’um, granting it power and existence, ensured I felt nary more than a soothing heat.

 

_May you find peace and rest now,_ I thought as I split the fire in two between my palms and laid it upon the two vigilants’ forehead, willing the dragon flame to consume them fully.  The beliefs of the Vigil held that doing so would purify the remains of any lingering daedric energies and influences they might have accumulated fighting their sworn foes over the course of their lives.  _The ones who did this will not escape my wrath, I swear._

 

 

A promise of bloody retribution was all well and good, but even after I watched the flames claim the vigilants and walked out with their ashes in my wake, I was still stumped as to what had prompted such a vicious attack.  The possibility seemed more and more likely that the vampires had in fact targeted the vigilants for no more complicated a reason that they were an enemy, or a nuisance, to be destroyed and offered up to their depraved deity.  If there was more to it, I was not seeing the evidence.

 

_What led them here?  What am I missing?_   Glumly, I took a lungful of crisp air in an attempt to cleanse myself of the stench of death reigning in the ashen confines of the destroyed sanctuary.  Gusts of cold wind carried stinging powdery that buffeted me.  Night was falling, and it promised to be a cold one.  I would have to find shelter for me and Frost soon.  I could have another look around with fresh eyes, under the light of a new day.

 

Walking back to the spot where I had ordered the stallion to wait for me, however, I found only tracks in the snow leading around the buff and away from the monastery, which certainly put urgency in my pace. Only hooves tracks awaited me, to my relief; the only imprints made by human feet matched the boots on mine.  My headstrong horse had simply ignored my command to wait for me.

 

_Where in Oblivion did that lame arse wander off to?_   I wondered with a huff of annoyance, not feeling in the mood to put up with his usually appreciated and valued undaunted spirit.  Tracking a twelve-hundred pound horse in fresh, undisturbed snow was child’s play, of course, but I was not in the mood for his games, not while road-weary, and especially after cremating the two butchered Vigilants.  Curiously, his tracks led away from the Hall, circling the contours of the natural alcove sheltering it, directly to the rock face of the mountain.  There I found him standing, clearly looking out for my approach, his gold coat cutting as conspicuously as could be against the sheer rocks. 

 

“What were you thinking?”  I grunted as I drew closer.  “Did I not tell you to wait for...”  I began to belittle him, but my mouth fell completely open in surprise as I noticed the reason why he was standing there.  There was a body covered in a thin dusting of snow laying face down on the ground beyond Frost, and a tiny, barely noticeable footpath beyond it.  “Me.  Clever boy.”  I grudgingly admitted when the stallion addressed me a look I could have sworn was mocking.  “Oh, stop being so full of yourself.  I would have found it sooner or later, even without your help.”

 

I wisely chose to ignore his answering, dubious huff.   To argue with horses, even mighty thoroughbreds which could outwit the average hold guard, is not exactly a sign of resounding sanity.

 

The dead ‘man’ Frost had found was clearly not a member of the Vigil, not unless their dressing code had taken a much more liberal, and sinister, turn in their final hours, or they had renounced their convictions and begun employing jagged ebonite blades.  His bloodstained leather tunic and trousers were an ashen gray, embroidered with dark threads forming a pattern reminiscent of the folded wings of a bat at rest.  Whether the blood was his was truthfully anyone’s guess; an open fracture bent his leg at a painful angle, the jagged white bone protruding out of the gory mess, while his head had been bashed in using some kind of large blunt instrument, likely a war hammer or some such weapon.  Blood and brain matter splattered the snow around him, the violence and brutality of the assault staggering.

 

_Definitely neither man nor mer... not any longer,_ I mused as I dragged a finger through the pool of mixed blood and ashes surrounding the body.  Despite the kill being less than a day old, already part of the fluids and rent flesh had turned to a fine, dull gray powder colloquially known as vampire dust.  I had witnessed this phenomena many times before; given a few more days of exposure to sunlight, the entire corpse would disintegrate in this fashion.  Though the height and proportions of the body suggested he was as Nord in life as I, this was clearly a vampire’s body.

 

And someone just as clearly took similar issue with that fact as I would have.

_Whoever that someone is, this is the way they went_ , I eyed up the small footpath beyond the massacred vampire.  A mild snowfall had muddled the tracks somehow, but the vampire’s hammer wielding foe had trailed some blood in his, or her, wake, and that trail lead upward, deeper into the mountain.  Possibly up the way the vampire came. 

 

I left Frost behind with a stern warning not to move this time, and made my prudent way up the slope.  Crude steps had been carved out of the raw stone long ago, and the weather had iced them over, turning the ascent treacherous, but the gambit was worthwhile nonetheless; hidden right at the top and gaping like the dark maws of some ancient abysmal beast was a cave entrance.

 

_Foreboding, deep, isolated and dark.  And it is a tomb as well..._   I mentally added after making note of the large, smooth stone sitting close to the entrance, its polished surface covered with the traditional swirling markings my ancestors used to indicate their burial sites.   _Were I a vampire, I would feel right at home here._

 

It took me less than a minute’s pondering to make up my mind and go in.  Kneeling at the entrance to the cave, I pulled out a small vial from my potion pouches, uncorking it with my teeth before pouring its sour contents into my mouth, swallowing half, waiting for a few deep breathes and then swallowing the rest, a grimace twisting my lips.  The nirnroot mixture, a classic potion first mixed at the closing of the previous age by the high-elven master alchemist Sinderion, was, while incredibly useful for a vampire huntress, not much for taste, to put it politely.  I hastily rinsed my mouth with a swig from my skin of water and spat out the slightly bluish water with a quiet hiss of disgust, and while I waited for the potion to take effect, unclasped my cloak and wrapped my satchel in it, made sure my sword and dagger could slip from their sheathes unimpeded, then gave my crossbow a quick once-over, loaded and shouldered it.  By the time I took my first step into the cave, addressing a quick prayer to my ancestors to implore their forgiveness, the potion had dramatically improved my night vision, to the point where I could make out every relief of every stone as clearly as I could in broad daylight.

 

The entrance passageway was narrow and claustrophobic, the first few yards covered in snow blown in from the outside.  Quietly, half-crouched, my crossbow held at the ready, I made my way further in, the soles of my well-worn leather boots silent.  While I would make a second-rate thief at best, and I held assassins in much scorn, I had long since been taught the value of the element of surprise and a decisive first strike, being raised by my huntress mother in the pine forests along the south-western borders of Skyrim. 

 

Only the sound of dripping water and my soft, controlled breathing accompanied me for a few minutes; no traps or sentries impeded my path forward, but I remained cautious nonetheless, falling back into my former tradecraft with an ease that surprised even me.  It seemed that while I could fool my heart that I had moved on from that life, my body was not so easily deceived.

 

The passage soon opened up into a larger, more open cavern, bisected by a broad trench a dozen feet deep.  Glowing dimly in a beam of fading daylight coming from the collapsed ceiling where a few stray snowflakes made their graceful way underground.  A much more surprising sight awaited me there than a bank of fresh snow, however; a tower, of all things, occupied a large portion of the space to my right, leaning precariously on the cavern walls.  The cave-in was recent enough, if the modern architecture (what was discernible of it, at least) of the tower was anything to go by; it was a decade or two old, at most.

 

To the left of the tower, across the way from me and the rubble scattered by the catastrophic collapse, were a pair of silhouettes, just barely visible cutting against the deep shadows.  Tall and lean, I nearly missed them, but once I had them in sight and took a few seconds to observe them, the graceful way they moved was unmistakably inhuman... or at least that was the case for the few that did move.  Several more lay sprawled in a rough circle several feet further away, close to a large, reinforced gate typical of ancient Nordic tombs.  It seemed a few more vampires had met the same fate as the one left in the snow outside.

 

Quietly, I dropped from my perch down to the cavern floor a few feet below, holding my breath upon landing and listening intently for any sign the fiends had taken notice of an altogether different predator making her approach.  Stalking forward with all senses alert, I picked up a few bribes of conversation, the low, throaty voices of the vampires above reaching me.  The exchange had something to do with warning someone named Harkon of the foolishness of the man he had put in charge, and the treachery it represented.  _Nothing that rings a bell.  Then again, I long since stopped keeping up to date with Skyrim’s latest power-hungry would-be Master vampires._

 

Scaling the far wall of the trench in silence was unnerving, but despite a few skidding rocks, I managed to reach the other side without alerting the vampires.  Hidden from their sight behind the remnants of the collapsed tower wall, I dared a quick peek to assess what exactly I faced.  One vampire, a dunmer, or dark elf, male had his back to me, his captivated attention on his companion, a formerly human female with long auburn hair a few shades lighter than mine. 

 

“Are you sure you cannot be persuaded to share?”  The male snidely asked his companion.  “I am getting a bit peckish standing out here.”  The female vampire answered with a deep, animalistic snarl that, even after hearing it hundreds of times, made my skin crawl.  “Fine, fine.  Disloyal and greedy, I see.”  The male calmly replied, his hands raised in mocking placation.

 

“I brought him down.”  The female brutishly replied, her tone clipped and conceited.  “He is _mine_ to do with as I please.”

 

_“He?”  “Share?”_   I wondered until I noticed the third figure.  Unlike the leather clad vampires, this one was garbed in the robes of the Vigil, or at least bloody rags that were once said robes.  His hands appeared restrained behind his back, and his shaved skull gleamed with sweat.  His weathered face was lowered, as in great abatement and weariness, or perhaps sorrow, and his eyes were hidden from view. 

 

“And he is nearly drained already.  You could not make him last a day.”  The male vampire declared with a disdainful snort.  “Here is a bit of friendly advice for you.  Learn some patience.  You are acting like a frenzied rogue, and quite mistaken if you think this kind of attitude will fly with us.”

 

“What does one dead cattle matter?  Soon, they will be lining up at our door like sheep regardless.”  She countered over her shoulder as she stalked towards the defeated Vigilant.  In one liquid motion, she straddled his lap and gripped the man’s jaw in a vice-like grip, twisting his head to the side savagely to bare his throat, where she hungrily sank her fangs, to the anguish of her victim.

 

_I have seen all I need to._   I thought grimly, disgusted by the sight of the feeding vampire.  Emerging quietly from my hiding place, I leveled the crossbow with the head of the male vampire whose back was still to me, aiming just slightly lower.  From a few feet away, before he could hear me, I loosed the bolt.  The crossbow fired with a sharp snap of releasing springs and the steel tip buried itself into the back of the vampire’s neck, emerging vibrating out the other side with a spurt of black blood.  He collapsed to his knees, desperately clutching his throat, not quite dead yet, though I spared not a second thought to his agony.  Gripping the leather strap of my weapon hanging across my chest, I wrenched it into place on my back and reached for my left hip, wrapping my fingers around the hilt of my sword without breaking stride, my hardened eyes fixed on the remaining vampire.  The air rang as I drew the length of tooled and engraved steel from its scabbard, and the moment the sword cleared it I broke into a low, crouched run, my arms cocked at my side, both hands on the pommel.  Although startled, the female vampire managed to throw herself away from her victim and out of reach of my first swing, the blade that would have decapitated her otherwise merely slicing a shallow gash across her middle.  With a rapid whirling motion I brought the sword back at the ready, and took a lunging step forward, throwing my weight behind a long-reaching thrusting strike that plunged the weapon’s point into my foe’s midsection, the tip bursting out the other side with a spurt of blood.  Grunting, I levered the vampire onto her back using the blade impaling her, her fingers desperately clutching at it despite the edges that sliced them open.  Without so much as a blink, I lodged my boot in her throat, holding the second vampire in place while I brought my crossbow back to bear upon her companion, and ruthlessly lodged a second bolt into his left eye.

 

A slower, more methodical reload later, and I had the weapon pointed at the beaten vampire under my heel.  Her clawed fingertips clutched feebly at the tough leather and reinforced shin plate, her wild crimson eyes shock-filled and frightened. 

 

“Please...”  She pleaded for her life in a weak, quiet rasp.  “Have mercy...”

 

“’Please?’  ‘Mercy?’”  I spat and leaned forward, moving more of my weight onto the foot pinning her.  My finger hovered over the trigger, a cold, cruel part of me making a debate out of what should have been an ingrained, immediate reaction.  I should have finished her off, as quickly and cleanly as I had been trained to, but the glassy eyes of the deceased, violated Vigilant haunted my thoughts still.  I wanted this creature to suffer, if only a fraction as much as the men and women of the Vigil had, and a beast lurking in the depths of my soul roared joyfully at the chance to enact vengeance and exert dominance.  “Do you fiends even know the meaning of the word?  You deserve the same pity you showed your victims, vampire.”

 

“I’m sorry...”  She barely managed to choke out.

 

“And I have the hardest time believing that.”  My reply came, more animal growl than speech, filled with the grim satisfaction I felt at watching the strangled vampire bleed to death.

 

_This is not about you_ , I reminded myself a lesson I had been taught long ago, _and this is not about the dead and their loss.  The dead can never be brought back, and neither can their suffering ever be taken back.  Giving in to the same impulses that rule your enemy will only cost you more than you should be willing to pay in the end._   In a long, sighing exhale, I let go of the worst of my raging hatred, my shoulders sagging and the pressure of my boot on the vampire’s throat easing up along with the sneer twisting my lip.

 

_Good advice.  Was it Florentius or Gunmar who taught me that?_   I wondered almost serenely... as I depressed the trigger.

 

The vampire died quickly, as much as an undead can die, and entered the afterlife with a relieved expression and a treacherous smirk on her face, and she was instantly pushed from my mind as I turned my attention towards the only being left alive in my vicinity.  My sword was wrenched from the she-vampire’s gut with a wet, meaty sound and instantly pointed in the prisoner’s direction, black blood dribbling from its triangular tip.  The Vigilant was a balding man, looking to be nearing his fifth decade of life, solid and broad shouldered despite the weight of years piling onto his back.  Bleary eyes met mine, their colour muddled by sorrow and fatigue into small water-stained pools, dull and nearly devoid of life, though the surprise of my appearance and the new, sudden threat of a perfectly steady, very sharp killing implement pointed his way brought some sparkle of vigor back into them. 

 

“Who are you?  What do you want?”  The older man asked me as I took a step closer to him, my sword in hand and intent eyes fixed upon his, alert for any signs of emerging madness.  There was a frantic note of panic in his voice, one that was only compounded by my aggressive stance.  “I am not one of them, you fool!  Put that sword aw-ack!”  The end of his demand was strangled out when I lunged for him, my forearm locking around his exposed throat, tilting his head to the side so I could assess the damage the vampires had inflicted.

 

“We can talk about your freedom once I am convinced you will not stab me in the back as soon as I give you half a chance.”  I did not trust him enough to lower my guard.  Not yet.  Not until I knew he was free from his aggressor’s influence.  Vampires enthrall their slaves through their bites, and if the raw marks I could make out beneath the tatters of the Vigilant’s collar were any indication, he had been gnawed upon like a dog’s prized bone.  Now, the way she had talked about him, prior to taking my sword through the guts, lead me to believe the brutish female had not taken the time to enslave her meal; however I had not survived this long by neglecting caution.  Thralls of destroyed vampires invariably follow their masters to the grave, but not before experiencing a brief period of absolute murderous madness, most often targeted at the ones who slew the fiend.  “I mean you no harm.”  I declared, shifting my hold so that I was ‘merely’ gripping his tattered collar.  “Show me she did not make you her slave, and I will cut you free.” 

 

“How in the name of Stendarr do you suggest I prove anything to you?!”  The man frantically spat.  “Take your hands off me!  Untie me this instant, woman!”

 

I rocked back on my heels and into a standing position, still withholding my sword from its scabbard for the moment.  With a flick of the wrists I reversed my grip on it, letting the tip rest on the stone floor and my hands upon the pommel, a few inches below my heart.  I kept my feet at shoulders’ width, my weight balancing discreetly from one to the other in case I had to spring into motion.  “Lowering your voice would be a good start.”  I replied marginally more calmly, pinning the man with a steely stare, devoid of that compassion I could ill afford.  “Compose yourself.  Breathe.  In through your nose, out through your mouth.”  Unflinching, I held his angry gaze until he looked away and complied, bringing his breathing under control in a way I was fairly convinced a frenzied thrall would never be able to.  Meditation was a discipline whose practice I suspected we had in common, and in a short amount of time he was as calm and centered as a man could, in his situation.

 

“Good.  Keep still.”  I ordered him once I was satisfied with the little test.  “What is your name, Vigilant?”  I asked as I slipped my sword between his bound hands and his back, drawing the edge across the ropes in a short sawing motion; the weapon made quick work of the coarse braided cord, and in a blink the Vigilant was free, rubbing his sore wrists and flexing his fingers in an attempt to get blood flowing back into them.

 

“Tolan.”  He replied to my inquiry.  “Who are...  Oh.  I should have expected this.  Did Isran send you, Huntress?”  Vigilant Tolan asked me dispassionately once he finally took a good look at me, recognition darkly dawning upon his weathered face at the sight of my armour, still adorned with the symbols of the Dawnguards.  “I would never have believed he could care enough for the Vigil to send even one of his followers to our aid.”

 

“ _He_ did not.  I came as soon as I heard about the attack.”  I idly replied, my attention focused on his wounds.  He needed tending to.  The male vampire I had slain was hardly exaggerating when he said the Vigilant was nearly spent.  His skin was ashen and clammy, and sweat dripped from his brow in fat droplets from the simple effort of standing somewhat upright.  He barely had the strength left to attempt getting to his feet; I had to extend an arm out to steady him, or risk watching him keel over from exhaustion.   “Steady.  Where do you think you are going?”  I disapprovingly grunted at him, my eyes narrowing in a leer.  It was hypocritical of me, since I was more restless when injured than he was, but I have no patience for fussy patients.  “I am surprised you are even conscious right now, let alone coherent.  You are in no shape to move yet.” 

 

“Are you blind enough to miss the carnage outside?!  These vampires slaughtered my brothers!”  Tolan attempted to bellow, but it came out as little more than a fit of raspy coughing.  “I will not sit idle here while-”

 

“I suggested you do no such thing.”  I cut him off.  “Foolishly getting yourself killed because you are too weak to stand, however, will not bring them back.  _Sit down_ and drink this.  It will help with the dizziness.”  I categorically ordered him, handing the wounded Vigilant both a phial from one of my satchels and my skin of water.  “You know Isran?”  I asked, half out of curiosity, half as a means to keep his mind off his desire for vengeance while the concoction took effect.

 

“As a brother.  We were comrades in arms in his days at the Vigil.”  Tolan grimaced, but otherwise gulped down the contents of the small bottle without arguing, washing it down with a swig of water.  “I imagine he does advertise the fact he was part of our brotherhood, even to his own men.”  I knew for a fact he was not lying; more than fifteen years ago, when Isran and I were master and apprentice, he had shared with me this tidbit of his past.  He had served in the Vigil for a time, but had left when it became clear his radical beliefs and methods did not line up with their ‘temperate’ ways, mostly when it came to vampires.  As I recalled from his retelling, that particular split had nearly gone as smoothly as my own excommunication from the Guard.  I found it unlikely Isran gave a skeever’s rear end about the demise of his former comrades, if he had even taken notice they were gone.

 

“Do not let the armour fool you, Vigilant Tolan.”  I murmured, my voice edging into a growl.  “He and I are acquainted, but I am most definitely not one of his men.”

 

“And he is still so astoundingly talented at making friends, I see.”  The Vigilant replied, ignoring the obvious joke he could have made at my expense. 

 

“Or keeping them.”  _Even when he owes them his life..._   “Call it a divergence of opinion.”  I added at the quizzical look my interlocutor gave me, and promptly changed the subject, the terrifying circumstances of my falling out with our mutual acquaintance not one I wished to broach.  My reluctance to divulge more was enough to keep Tolan from pressing further.  “These bites must be purified before I dress them; else you will be at risk of turning.”  I decided after prodding the gnarled flesh at the edge of his wound.  The ragged edges were blackened and oozing blood and darker, more revolting fluids, and a pervasive scent of sickness and death emanated from them.  “Brace yourself.”  I warned the man around the small cork I pulled from a second glass vial.  “This will not be pleasant.”

 

To Vigilant Tolan’s credit, he managed not to scream bloody murder when the purifying potion struck his skin, despite the sizzling pain that had to be lighting his neck on fire just this moment.  I could not assure you I would have managed the same, for it was sizzling in a very literal sense; as soon as it hit the edge of the wounds and poured over them, the clear, innocuous liquid began to bubble and froth like water held too long over an open flame.  Pus, blood and a fouler, darker fluid erupted in a brief, stomach-churning flood from the wound, and then it sealed itself with a raw, red crust, the vampire’s corruption extracted none too gently from the veins of her panting, most un-piously cursing victim.  Using a tattered strip of his robe, I wiped away the worst of the spill, before producing a clean white bandage from my many pouches and dressing his injuries.

 

“There.”  I nodded, satisfied that the treatment would hold him together until I could get the lone survivor to a priest or proper healer.  “How is the dizziness?”

 

“I think your potion managed to knock the wind out of me anew, Huntress.”  The Vigilant managed a painstaking wheeze.  “Still preferable to that undead harlot’s bite, though.”  He muttered, his eyes evading mine, but I had no need to look in them to know what he meant.  A vampire’s bite was far, _far_ from merely painful.  Its viciousness stemmed from the sheer, overwhelming ecstasy it could invoke in its victims, a much more insidious, not to mention dangerous, way of controlling them while the fiend fed.  It was much harder to resist pleasure than it was pain.  I had no doubt the Vigilant was quite relieved to be wearing loose robes right this moment, lest the evidence of the she-vampire’s feeding be altogether too obvious to the naked eye...

 

“Aye.”  I agreed knowingly with him as I pushed away, though I myself had managed to... _convince_ every vampire I had ever met to keep their fangs to themselves.  I had, however, never met vampires quite like this lot.  For starters, all of them wore matching, lightweight, form-fitting outfits obviously of the same make, the male’s dark grey, the female’s a dull shade of red. 

 

_Uniforms?_   I thought worriedly as I took a knee next to my latest kill, remembering the matching attire of the slain vampire laying outside at the foot of the path leading up to the cave.  _Of all the damnable..._   Uniforms meant organisation, discipline, a structured hierarchy and leadership; all things power-hungry beasts like vampires were seldom capable of.  It suggested a fully-fledged vampire clan, a very disturbing possibility. 

 

“What can you tell me about these vampires?”  I worriedly addressed the Vigilant who now stood behind me, already steadier on his feet than he should have been.  I had to squash a tiny pang of satisfaction at the sight of my alchemy’s effectiveness. 

 

“They are strong, stronger than anything I have faced in all my years in the Vigil.”  The Vigilant declared, his voice quivering with a volatile mixture of hatred and grief, perhaps with a little fear added in for good measure.

 

“What about their organisation?  All of them are wearing the same uniform, and I’m fair certain I heard them mentioning something about their leader.  Harkness?”

 

“Harkon.”  The Vigilant corrected me.  “I...  Yes, I believe they are members of a clan, as you have no doubt figured out, but the name they kept saying...”

 

“Spit it out, Vigilant.  We do not have all night.”  I quietly growled.

 

“Volkihar.”  He finally told me.  “I know, ludicrous, but it is the truth, I swear upon my honour.”  Tolan added with a joyless smirk at my flabbergasted expression, not to mention the fact he nearly knocked me flat on my backside.

 

“ _Volkihar_?”  I repeated, dumbfounded by this latest revelation.  “That _is_ ludicrous, you’re right.”  I chuckled mirthlessly.  “I do not doubt what you’ve heard, but the thought that such common scum could be affiliated with a clan that is more myth than reality is much too far out there to consider.”

 

Skyrim has a number of bogeymen.  It is simply unavoidable amidst such a superstitious culture that even grown men and women would see the monsters from their childhood’s folk tales in every ominous shadow.  The Volkihar were one such monster, a ghost from a story of haunted, frozen lakes and breaths that could freeze the blood of a man in his veins falling from thin dead lips.  Their names were whispered in hushed, reverent tones only in broad daylight, for no reason; there were no such vampires as the Volkihar... or if there were, their reputation had been gravely exaggerated for so many of them to be cut down like so much wheat during the harvest. 

 

“You mean to say that this is only a name they have taken for themselves, and they have nothing to do with the actual Volkihar clan, if such a clan exists?”  The Vigilant asked with a mild sneer at my disbelieving contempt, and I nodded with narrowed eyes.  “I wish I could agree with you, Huntress, I truly do, but what they have managed to do to my brothers does not fill me with confidence.”

 

“The Vigil never was ready to face a vampire threat of any real magnitude.”  I replied coolly.  “I have hunted these fiends for nearly a decade, and these,” I gestured to the two bodies before me, “were as easy a kill as I’ve ever had.”

 

The Vigilant turned away from me with a frustrated grunt, and I from him with a sigh.  “Our conjectures are pointless; regardless of whom they are or might be, they are a threat to be neutralised.  I cannot deny they have all the trappings of clan vampires, and that is what matters.  The rest is academic.”  I dropped without looking at my interlocutor, and turned my attention back to the body of the female vampire.

 

_Whoever their tailor is, he needs a lesson in proper protective designs._   I thought with a sneer of disdain at the cut of the tunic covering the female’s chest.  Its lines were flowing in  a rather organic fashion, reminiscent of the folded wings of a bird, or more likely _bat_ , at rest, draping as a sort of mantle around the upper torso and down below the hips in a short skirt.  Black, form-fitting pants and calf-high boots completed the vampire’s attire.  None of that truly rubbed me the wrong way, though the sinister effect the clothes were clearly meant to produce seemed a bit on the conspicuous side to me.  What really made me shake my head in disbelief was the top of a pair of generously-sized, deathly pale _breasts_ , perfectly exposed for all to see, or lodge a crossbow bolt into.     _Armour and cleavage... if two words should ever be mutually exclusive, those are it._ Still, what the _armour_ lacked in modesty (and practicality), it made up for with the quality of its material, something I realised when I attempted to slice a strip of it off in order to wipe my blade.  I was not ready to write it off as leather, but the flexible, quite resilient material was not made from the hide of any animal I knew.  It was clearly meant to take unimpeded advantage of its wearer’s agility rather than bear the full brunt of an attack, not a bad choice for a race of quick and nimble predators.  Meant to pounce, not help you survive if you were pounced upon, as evidenced by the fact it had merely blunted the glancing blow I had scored upon her.  The single-edged blade in its sheath on her hip seemed to follow similar principles; relatively small, though not so much I would have called it a knife or dagger, it was short and whip-thin, a polar opposite to the sturdy long-hilted sword I favoured.  It was a weapon an assassin would proudly hang from her belt, meant to slit throats from the shadows, or be plunged viciously into the chink in an opponent’s armour.

 

_I never thought I would long to see those dirty rag wearing rats again,_ I thought ruefully, reminiscing countless encounters with vampires who did not dress quite so flamboyantly.  Everything about the vampire screamed of contempt for the secrecy so central to their culture and instincts, and so did hers and her brethren’s behaviour.

 

_I suppose they could be relative fledglings..._   I thought, only reluctantly touching upon the possibility of them truly being a part of the quite-literally legendary Volkihar clan.  _Even they would have to begin somewhere, bring over new recruits.  And the scope of what they are attempting- provided Celann did not exaggerate..._

 

I grunted and shook those ruminations out of my mind.  I would have a better chance at figuring out what they were up to once I had a clearer picture, and perhaps a motive.  A little voice in the back of my head told me I could most likely find some answers somewhere deeper into this cave.

 

“What exactly is this place?”  I asked, leaving the body behind and finally returning my wiped blade to its scabbard, so I could switch over to the crossbow.  “Simply a handy location to wait out the daylight.”

 

“I’m not sure.”  Tolan replied from further than I expected.  Surprised, my eyes darted to the Vigilant’s form some distance away, finding him kneeling near that circle of corpses I had noticed prior.  “There was a cave-in several weeks ago, that brought down the old guard tower over there.  When we investigated, a few of my brothers and sisters ventured further in to make sure the graves were undisturbed.  They found something unexpected.  A crypt of some kind.”

 

“A crypt within a crypt?”  I lifted an eyebrow and dryly asked.  “A bit redundant, no?”

 

“A crypt well _hidden_ within a crypt.  Trust me, it was.  The Vigil knew about the tomb when we first established the Hall.  We cleared it out, made sure all the dead were resting easy.  The collapse had revealed a new passage, and something else.  Something altogether different, ancient.”

 

“This place dates back to the aftermath of the dragon wars, eras ago.”  I pointed out.  How much more ancient could it be?

 

“Yes, and as far as we can tell, what we uncovered does not predate them, but it is several millennia old.  The architecture is more refined than those of our ancestors.  The angles are harsher, and it is not as flowing and natural.  The air within crackles with magic that does not match that of the dragon cults and its priesthood.  I do not know what these vampires are after, but I would wager it has something to do with that crypt.”

 

“And just what are _you_ looking for in that pile of corpses?”  I asked as I watched him lift a body to take a peek under it.  All of them were large, male and human in life, kinsmen of mine, or so I thought at a glance.  All of them were also in dubious hygiene with scruffy beards and dirt-stained skin, wearing tattered clothes and scraped together pieces of shoddy armours.  Marauders, by the looks of them, enthralled to use as food and fodder, or perhaps hard labour, if the vampires had plans to excavate more of that so called hidden crypt.

 

“A war hammer.  My war hammer, to be precise.  I dropped it when that harlot joined the fray and took me down.”

 

“All of this is your handiwork?”  I gestured to the positive carnage surrounding us.  “You are a skilled fighter.”

 

“Not quite skilled enough.  Ah, there it is.”  He finally managed to extricate a long-hilted hammer from between a pair of bodies, though it required an amount of effort that disconcerted him and me both. 

 

“You will not be dissuaded to accompany me in there, will you?”  I sighed at the sight of my companion of misfortune struggling with a familiar, solid weapon I had no doubt had served him faithfully for many years. 

 

“I am not accompanying you anywhere, Dawnguard.  We merely happen to be travelling in the same direction.”  Tolan shot over his shoulder at me. 

 

“I am not...”  I began in a growl, but cut myself off before I could utter more.   “Just try to stay behind me.”  I rapidly jogged to catch up to him before he could make it to the heavy iron doors.

 

“If that is what you want, I would suggest you walk faster, Huntress.”

 

“Call me Eleanor.”  I said just as I caught up with him.

 

“Pick up your pace, Eleanor.  We have vampires to kill.”


	4. Dimhollow

Tolan had not been mistaken when he said the mysterious crypt hidden within the tomb of our ancestors had clearly been added in long after the initial construction. We made our way together through a network of natural caves where flowed small underground streams that seamlessly transitioned into grand burial halls, their walls carved with the stories of those laid to rest in this place. Rows after rows of iron sarcophagi flanked, all of them neatly sealed thanks to the prior efforts of the Vigil, a rare sight in this day and age when dragons haunted the skies and death failed to hold their former servants. Everywhere around us the harshness of forged iron was balanced out in a strangely fitting manner by curves of stone almost too smooth to have been touched by the hands of men. I learned long ago that dragons respected the stone of the earth. Their love for mountains did not stem solely from the view they liked to lord over us land-bound creatures; according to them, mountains have not always been. They grow, like the bones of Mundus itself, driven by a slow, eternally patient power that dwarfs even the dragons' at times. It seemed insane to me, but it did drive the ancient dragon overlords to command their followers and slave to build with as much care and respect for the living stone of their mountain fortresses as they could, so as to not taint the work of this inexorable power with traces of their slave races' existence. Whatever that power they claimed could grow mountains was, they held it in much higher regard than my ancestor's lives.

The mysterious crypt had not been built with any such care.

Oh, do not misunderstand me, the stone work we could make out once we reached the collapsed passage Tolan told me about was exquisite. The change, going from the burial halls where every 'disgraceful' trace of mortal hands upon the stone had been methodically erased was jarring, however, to say the least. Gone were the swirling painted designs and jagged forged irons that emulated the dragon overlord of old's shape; in their stead stood smooth walls of carved stones forced into submitting to the jagged shapes and sharp angles born from a decidedly sinister, but brilliant, mind. Hammer, chisels and pickaxes had cleft intricately carved columns from the stone to support large, sweeping arches at least thirty feet off the debris-littered ground we now stood upon. Dull illumination shone from a few phosphorescent cave mushrooms nearby, casting deeper shadows in the colossal hallway.

"There were magical wards here." Tolan revealed before we could take a step inside. "Watch yourself."

_Of course there were. Because magically reconstructing the stone face and building a bloody portcullis was not enough_. I snidely addressed the builders the thought as I took a step forward and made out the mangled remains of the iron gates. Not the work of amateurs, to have pulled off this feat of engineering off underground; it was further evidence that this was a relatively more recent addition, one that my ancestors could not have managed, requiring more recent innovations.

The fact it had been seemingly torn down was not exactly a small feat either.

"Do you feel them?" I asked, surprising us both by deferring to him. I had some experience of magic, including how to disrupt wards and magical defences. By employing my Thu'um, a very primal form of magicka, to first sense the disturbance they left behind in the fabric of this plane, and then using its power to lash out from 'below' at the foundation of a protective spell, I had learned to circumvent most traps wizards could lay. A brute force approach, but one that served me well. Tolan had first-hand knowledge of these wards, however, and no matter how adept I could have gotten at bludgeoning and bumbling my way through magical defences, he might be able to catch something I had missed. "I sense nothing." I observed, sending out my Thu'um through the rock, letting it map out any magical perturbations, like a bat screeching to orient itself. Nothing.

"No. There is... nothing." Tolan outstretched his hand, magic aglow around it.

"You sound dismayed by that." I frowned at his dejected tone of voice.

"You do not understand what I meant by 'wards', Eleanor." Tolan lowered his hand, dissipating his spell with a sigh. "There were layers upon layers of spells here. The work of years for a master wizard to set up, and at least weeks to disarm with even a modicum of safety. It took our loremaster Adalvad the better part of a day to get himself and his assistant through unscathed."

"And if those vampires had the key to allow themselves safe passage through those wards, this hallway would still be defended." I reasoned in turn.

"Exactly. There is only one explanation. They must have used live bodies and triggered them all."

My grip on the crossbow tightened. He did not need me to mention it was likely any surviving Vigilant had been thrown at these wards as fodder for the wards to spend themselves against. Bastards.

"Come. If they want to offer us their unguarded backs, I feel all too eager to oblige." I coldly growled and strode forward.

While I was still under the influence of my previously imbibed nirnroot potion and could navigate the mess the destroyed portcullis had left behind, Tolan benefited from no such advantage. The going was slow with him in tow, mumbling curses as he bumbled, half-blind, after me, stumbling every third step.

Stumbling very nearly, in fact, into thick strands of dirty white, sticky silk, like a fly straight into an awaiting web.

I gasped and frantically lunged for Tolan, wrenching him back by the collar of his robes, hard enough for his surprised cry to be strangled in his throat. He collapsed in a pile, his hammer instinctively clutched to his chest so as to not lose his grip on it.

"What are-" I let myself fall on top of him, my hand covering his mouth, before Tolan managed to utter more. My eyes were riveted to the bit of webbing my companion had very nearly tripped over. Under my gaze, the still silk strands began to strum, though there was no breeze to be felt or limb to be seen to explain why... at least at this end.

"Be quiet, and do not move a muscle." I whispered without taking my eyes off the ceiling I could barely make out. "Wait here." I ordered him, quiet but unquestionable, as I took to my feet and scanned my immediate vicinity. My enhanced vision assisted me in discerning the webs along the ground, but the shadows still unnerved me in a way they hadn't managed to in years.

_Snarls surround us on all sides, though not one source is in sight. Ominous clicking and growling approaches us from everywhere and nowhere at once, the scent of rot and death conjured up seemingly from the very darkness. Isran's breathing at my back turns frantic and very nearly afraid, for the first time in all the years I have known him._

_No choice but to give in. Give in or die._

" _Run." I tell my mentor as the darkness is lifted, and I see our foes clearly, hunched forms and slithering bodies revealed. "Do not look back, no matter what you hear."_

Something dark and wary lurking in the depths of heart stirred at the unfamiliar taste of fear coating my mouth. I swallowed thickly, trying to center myself, quiet my unease and focus on tracking the webs to their central spot, but for a rare instant, my grip slipped. For barely a heartbeat, my vision turned from bluish to a dark shade of amber, piercing the darkness with the ease of a dragon's tooth rending dry parchment.

In that moment, pitch black, beady eyes stared blindly back at me. Maws large enough to engulf my body down to the shoulders lazily opened and closed. Mandibles as long as my arms groped fitfully at the empty air, mimicking the numerous legs that moved from one strand of web, extending from this central nexus within which the creature laid, to another, setting it to strum as it felt for any alien vibration signaling the presence of intruder invading its lair.

A low, barely audible growl rumbled its way out of my chest before I could settle my racing heart, but with a sharp shake of the head, I managed to stifle it before it betrayed my position. I took a moment to scrunch my eyes shut, and when I opened them again, only the familiar blue murk of my nirnroot-enhanced vision surrounded me. I took a deep breath and began to slowly back away so I could rejoin my vigilant comrade. To his credit, Tolan could apparently listen to me when he put his mind to it. I found him holding perfectly still, his chest barely rising as he dared not so much as breathe.

"I asked you to stay quiet, not asphyxiate yourself." I shakily chided him, unsure whether it was my dip in control or the sight of the predator that induced that hated quiver in my voice. "It is as I suspected. There is a Frostbite spider in here. A pale female. An exceptionally large pale female." I corrected myself, remembering the long clawed limbs sprouting from a stocky body the width of a pall of mead. Tolan had been lucky not to set foot into her web. Not only would he have gotten his leg tangled up in the unnaturally sturdy strands, he would have brought the massive creature down upon us, likely sealing our doom before either of us could react.

_This would be so simple with a little dragon fire, but I doubt this passage could survive being subjected to the Voice._ I pondered upon this ugliest of hurdles. _At least she does not seem to have any attending males with her. Small favours, but we never could have snuck past otherwise._ Three things happen to a female Frostbite as she ages; she grows phenomenally in size and ferocity, her carapace becomes paler and paler with each molt until she turns the shade of dirty snow, and she gathers a veritable harem of her much smaller male counterparts to see to her needs, whether they be feeding, grooming or breeding. Complete hedonists, I tell you. This one, however large she was, appeared to be tragically single. Perhaps the vampires had not blundered and offered us their vulnerable backs after all. Perhaps they had taken a page out of the handbook of power-hungry sorcerers and turned the loathsome creature into a guardian familiar, depriving her of her usual creature comforts. No wonder she looked so grumpy.

"Get behind me. Step exactly where I step, and keep quiet." I instructed Tolan, using the glow of the mushrooms and my enhanced vision to map out a route through the spider's web. "I would rather not tangle with her."

"I agree." Tolan nodded.

"Shocking." I quietly jested. "You may not want to do this too often, Vigilant. I might start to think we could get along otherwise."

"Just get a move on." He grunted back at me.

"Aye. I can just make out a doorway on the other side. Follow me."

It was one of the more unnerving moments of my life, crossing the web of a pale Frostbite right under its lack of nose, but by some small miracle, Tolan and I almost managed the feat. There would likely have been no 'almost' about it, had the spider been as lonely as I suspected. The only advance warning I had something was amiss was the dull thud of Tolan's body splaying on the cracked tiled floor, and the briefest glint slithering across my field of vision.

There was a vampire behind me, one that seemed eager to introduce my jugular to the cutting edge of his short sword.

Jerking back straight into a chest that felt as immovable as a mountain, I barely managed to intercept the blade before he managed to plunge it in my throat. I felt a new gash being carved in my old, worn bracer as sharpened ebonite almost glided clean through, stopping inches from me when my forearm lodged itself in the angle formed by the handle of the blade and my assailant's wrist. Immediately, my arm began to quiver with the effort of fending him off; as a mortal, even an exceptional one by most standards, pitting my strength against that of a vampire was a losing proposition, especially since any noise could alert the spider to our presence.

"You should just give up." The vampire murmured in my ear, his smooth, seductive voice unstrained, as if he was not wrestling a six feet tall, armoured Nord. "Slitting your throat will be much faster than having my pet up there suck the innards out of you while you still draw breath."

"Tolan!" I frantically gasped in the direction I could hear him groaning as the tip of the vampire's weapon closed another fraction of an inch. Opposite him came some scurrying, the soft, queer clicking and crooning of the pet Frostbite being roused by the quietly desperate struggle going on in her lair.

_Wait... He said '_ his _pet'... if he was the who captured this spider, then maybe..._

It was worth a try. If it didn't work, well, I was a dead woman regardless.

"Tolan, if you can hear me, run." I grunted, my strength nearly spent. The blade was nearly across my throat. "Get to the door!" I snarled just as I violently thrust my elbow back into the vampire's solar plexus. My assailant stumbled back with the force blow, as unfortunately did his sword which bit into... the protective leather collar meant to defend against the fangs of vampires I wore, the glancing blow thankfully harmless. The very instant I had use of both my hands again, I gripped the vampire's sword arm and wrenched it over my shoulder, twisting my body into a hip toss that sent him directly into the entangling webs his pet had woven. It took less than a heartbeat for the alerted spider to let out a screech and drop from the ceiling onto the floor, but that was all the time I needed; one hand above his wrist, the other below, and a sickening crack later the vampire was wailing in anguish, clutching his uselessly limp hand.

That scream soon turned into one of sheer terror as the pain momentarily shattered his mind, and with it the spell he used to control the spider. I will spare you the grisly details; the spectacle of a Frostbite feasting on live prey can make anyone queasy.

Narrowly, I managed to duck underneath one of the spider's serrated, scythe-like mandibles and slip past it, scrambling to the far door as quickly as I dared, bobbing and weaving so as to avoid putting myself in the same position as the vampire. The spider, focused on the prey tangled up in her web, let me go, age and experience having no doubt taught her a sure meal was preferable to gambling for two and risking an empty stomach. My maddened dash ended at the opened set of doors, and I breathed a sigh of relief when Tolan shut it behind me, trapping the nightmarish creature and her gory meal behind. The frame was solid stone, and too narrow for the spider to squeeze in after us. From her at least, we were safe, though a rapid examination of the bracer on my sword arm and the half-torn collar around my neck sent a chill down my spine, reminding me none too subtly not to take that safety for granted again.

I took a second to acknowledge my companion with a hasty nod, calmed my breathing, and raised my crossbow, scanning the room we found ourselves in for any new threat. Tolan and I stood in a grand hall that would not look out of place in the most obsequious of Imperial temples. Two rows of columns extended away from us, flanking a dark, musty carpet even the most fanatical housekeeper would have given up on two centuries ago. The ceiling was even higher up than before, completely obscured at least forty feet up. The air was stale and the heat stifling, even compared to the rest of the cave network. Faintly, in the distance, I could hear water running, and not just the small streams Tolan and I had been following up for the past hour; this sounded like a proper underground river.

_And_ that _is one very life-like gargoyle_ , I thought as I slowly took my finger off the nearly depressed trigger of my crossbow, having nearly lodged a bolt into the rounded forehead of a nearby statue. To be fair, while it was dwarfed by the enormous spider we had left behind, the gargoyle appeared more than a little threatening, its large extended wings giving it a daunting presence, its crouched stance was more appropriate for pouncing on an unsuspecting passerby than resting, and its hands and feet were tipped with long, wicked talons that looked like they could rend through plate armour with ease.

_Stone. Just cold, inanimate stone._ I took a hand off my weapon and brushed my fingertips against the large, dust-covered ear of the nearest snarling statue, reassuring myself it was not threat before I ventured further down the hall. My posture melted into a familiar half-crouch, lowering my center of gravity to better absorb the recoil should I need to fire.

"Do you know about any other surprises?" I asked Tolan without cessing to scan the shadows down the length of my crossbow. "Anything else we should look out for?"

"Not that I know. There is a balcony further ahead that overlooks a small bridge, leading to an artificial island. Adalvad seemed to think this was the focal point." Tolan replied.

_Then I wager whatever they are after, we will find there._

The further in we went, the lighter the shadows became, replaced instead by a dim, purplish gloom that was just sufficient to allow Tolan to cease relying on me as a guide. The grand hall came to an end what felt like a hundred yards away, narrowing into a colossal doorway that led to a portion of the crypt, or whatever this was, in far poorer shape than the rest. The railing surrounding the balcony Tolan mentioned was mostly intact, but everywhere I looked, I saw evidence of years of neglect; wall carvings faded and covered with moss and cave mushrooms, shattered stonework, fractured and missing tiles on the floor...

_Huh... No, these are not missing._ A small corner of my mind mused as I took a closer look at the damage. _They were never put in to begin with. Could it be whoever built this place had to seal it up and hide it before it was even complete?_ An interesting thought, but not one I had time to assess further; I had not taken a dozen steps onto the balcony that a scream of pain ripped the relative silence asunder, drowning out the sound of running water.

Instantly on full alert, I took three quick steps towards the source of the noise, gazing upon the gigantic open cavern below over the intricately carved balustrade. A dozen figures stood in a rough circle some forty feet away, surrounding a thirteenth one looming over a naked man, curled pathetically on his side, writhing and twitching under the onslaught of magic spilling from his tormentor's hands.

_Two against thirteen... plus a dog of some kind_ , I mentally added when I noticed the canine shape lurking around the circle. _Mostly canine, anyway. What in Oblivion is that thing?_ Its head seemed too large, its body too stocky, too muscular, for it to be merely a dog... not to mention the deep shadows that enveloped it like tendrils of smoke.

Risky odds, even with the element of surprise. Not that, in the end, we had a choice but to face them. You see, this was not just any man the vampires were torturing, but someone Tolan knew very well, someone he had mentioned moments before; the lost loremaster of his order.

"Adalvad?!" Tolan gasped at the sight, quietly, so very quietly you would not think a pair of ears forty feet away could pick up on it. That would have been the case, had the owner of the curious and glowing crimson eyes that turned to face us been mortal.

The vampire opened his mouth to shout, but I fired, cursing, before he could manage to make a sound, the steel bolt piercing the material of his light armour. His body slumped heavily to the floor, his heart, still the second most vital organ, even for an undead predator, shredded, his unlife extinguished before he struck the ground. Instantly, eight more pinpricks of red lights pierced the darkness, fixed directly upon our position. A chorus of reptilian snarls and hisses rose to meet us, and in a heartbeat we were beset by the vampires and their thralls.

"Get down!" I yelled and wrenched Tolan back, nearly forcing his face into the ground, covering his body with my own as one of the more magically adept vampire riposted to my attack by lobbing a fist-sized, explosive ball of flames at us. The spell missed us by a hair's breadth, instead colliding violently with the wall at our back, the backlash of the explosion washing hotly over us, sending splinters of stone to break against the mail of my armour. Without hesitation, I loaded another bolt and poked my head over the railing we were using as cover, took aim and, all in the same heartbeat, shot a second vampire dead. _Three more vampires, six more thralls._ I thought, a handful of the mortals falling down upon their knees, clutching their head and screaming like wild beasts. They had minutes to live, if that. Less than that, I corrected myself when the vampires decided to cut them down rather than risk having them turn on their former overlords. The frenzy of a thrall is a rather... _unpredictable_ phenomenon.

"Can you fight?" I asked Tolan, feeling more than seeing him nod his head affirmatively. "The thralls are going to charge us. Cover that stairwell, keep them from swarming us." The balcony had originally been built following a symmetrical pattern, with a stairwell at each end leading to the lower level, upon which began the bridge Tolan knew about, with the man-made island beyond. Fortunately for us, however, the stairs on our left had not survived the passage of time, meaning that we held the high ground and could funnel our enemies where we wanted to engage them. The stairs were only broad enough for two men to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and there is a difference between merely standing and a fighting stance; unless he blundered far worse than a veteran like him should, Tolan could use the terrain to bottleneck his opponents, forcing them to face him one by one.

"Keep those vampires off me." Tolan grunted, hefting his war hammer, and rushed into position, keeping his head low enough that he did not offer a shot to the vampires slinging an array of spells at us from below. The first thrall that tried to pass him by, the last of the frenzied ones that rushed blindly over his comrades, got his torso reduced to chunky paste by the Vigilant's blow, his body stumbling down the stairs, tripping several of the approaching slaves. Satisfied my flank was covered, I turned my attention back to the vampires. Rather than risk their own skins, the three survivors had taken cover behind diverse pieces of rubble, exposing themselves only long enough to fling magic my way. Bolts of lightning, shards of razor-sharp ice, balls of flame, globes of corrosive goo, orbs of raw, explosive magicka, they used a slew of destructive spells, but from my lookout, I was a small, difficult target, and most of their efforts wasted themselves above or below me, adding to the damage time and the earthquake had already extolled on this place. I fired back as quickly and accurately as I could, but it was also much harder for me to inflict any real damage when the vampires stubbornly refused to give me any opportunity for a lethal shot. Several times did I manage to graze one of the fiends, but it took many tries for me to finish another one off, another male whose death cries were drowned out by the suddenly louder, more frantic din of battle coming from my right. I barely had time to finish my last reload, drawing the bolt, laying it on the crossbow's tray and cocking back its lever in one fluid, practiced motion, before it abruptly cut off, the relative silence alarming me. Either my companion had finished off the last of the thralls, or...

... Or one of them stood a cut above his comrades, and had managed to trump the Vigilant's guard.

"Tolan!" I shouted at the sight of him, hunched in pain in the shadow of a tall, square-shouldered man dressed in a tattered quilted doublet, a two-handed sword, longer and more massive than the one at my side, lifted above his head, poised to deliver the finishing blow. Tolan's war hammer was nowhere to be, leaving him defenceless, without any means that I could see to block the impending strike.

"WULD!" I frantically Shouted, switching over to the dragon tongue on pure instinct, the ground quivering under my feet for an instant. The world turned into a blur as the sound enveloped me and, faster than the eye could follow, the Shout carried me in its wake to the exact point I had visualised; between the downed Vigilant and his opponent. The thrall's eyes went wide at the sight of me seemingly materialising out of thin air, but this one was definitely a trained warrior; already he had shifted his grip to strike me with the pommel of his sword, the blade of which was too long and unwieldy to be used against an opponent this close. I lifted both of my arms and caught his wrists before his swing could gain any momentum, the sword between us swishing precariously as we both grunted in our attempt to overpower the other. The contest lasted less than a second; twisting away, I turned his strength against the thrall, my left knee rising to violently meet his right side as he descended, his breathing momentarily cutting off with the impact. My fist hitting his temple likely did not help matters as well, and he stumbled away, stunned, giving me enough room to draw my own sword, holding it one-handed pointed at my side in a flaunting, provoking stance.

Quickly, the man recovered, using his sword as a cane to push back to his feet before bringing it to bear in a high grip, his fingers tightening around the pommel in anticipation of his next move. We studied each other briefly before he let out a cry and rushed me, his sword tracing a low arc towards my off-hand side. Steel rang against steel as I slipped my sword beneath his, simultaneously crouching, twisting and lifting my opponent's weapon so it sailed harmlessly above me, sending him spinning off balance with the momentum. Taking the opening, I lunged and cut low, opening a deep gash in his thigh. The thrall let out a cry of pain and almost dropped to his knee, his injured leg refusing to support him. Narrowly, he managed to raise his own blade in time to parry my overhand blow, the deafening impact of my dragonforged steel edge nicking the shoddier metal.

He could do nothing, however, about the brutal side kick I landed in his face, sending him tumbling back down the stairs.

"How bad?" I panted at Tolan; the Vigilant was very clearly alive, though other than a gash on his forehead, bleeding profusely as all head wounds did, I could not assess his injuries.

"Putting up with one of you was bad enough. Now I see three." He mumbled in reply, earning himself a quick, dry chuckle from me. "I will live."

"Stay out of the way until your vision clears. Do not dive back into the fray unless you absolutely have to." I breathlessly ordered him, gripping his shoulder with my free hand for emphasis. Wobbly as he looked, he would likely be more of a burden in battle than an asset.

_Where were we?_ I thought savagely, turning my attention back to the spot my previous opponent had disappeared from. I could see him sprawled on the floor below amidst his deceased comrades, still out cold; of his masters I could see no trace, though I knew it meant little. Vampires who did not want to be seen could be exceedingly difficult to spot.

Unfortunately, in the murk, I only spotted the night-black undead hound a heartbeat before its massive jaws clenched around my calf. The creature was clearly not from this world. Its eyes glowed red like those of its masters, and its teeth would have been comically large had they not been powered by equally oversized biting muscles. If not for the shin plates I wore, it would have likely bitten the limb off. As it were, its violent trashing attempts only succeeded in making me lose my footing, sending me careening off down the stairs, grunting in pain when I finally came to an abrupt halt at the bottom, landing awkwardly on my side, my ribs thoroughly bruised. Breathing immediately became a chore, but I had no time to lie down and writhe the way I felt inclined to. In a blink the surviving vampires were on top of me, the lone female's hands aglow in ominous red while the male hung back, a few yards behind her and the recovering mortal man whom I had sent sprawling down the stairs. Suffice to say that if looks could kill, his glower would have put a bloody and violent end to my existence then and there.

The worse part, however, was that in this joyous tumble, my sword had landed several feet out of my reach, leaving me with one crossbow bolt and a long dagger to fend off my attackers.

With a snarl of pain, I pushed into a crouch and reached behind my back, slipping my hand into my shield's grip and wrenched it free, twisting the handle so that by the time I brought it to bear between myself and the closest vampire, the lone surviving female, the metal wings had deployed into place, just in time to catch a lazy stream of entropic magic flowing from her hands.

_Draining spell... good to know these vampires can at least do something predictable._ I thought as a sudden and intense wash of weariness nearly overcame me. The shield on my left arm almost drooped, seemingly tripling in weight, my strength nearly failing me before I could tuck myself properly behind it.

"Well, well. What have we here?" The male vampire sheathed his sword as he drew near, drawling confidently. "A little lost lamb in wolf's clothing? A puny mortal who thought she could tangle with us? Quite the folly your order committed, Dawnguard, to send you alone against us."

"What can I say?" I grunted in reply. _Come on, just a little closer..._ "No one ever accused me of lacking confidence."

"Lacking intelligence is another matter entirely." He disdainfully mocked me, and in that moment, with my side igniting agonisingly with every breath I took, I felt inclined to agree with him. "Still, you have strength and spirit in abundance. I will enjoy breaking both before sending your soul to our lord, just like we did the Vigilants."

"Lokil..." The female vampire attempting to subdue me began.

"Is that what you have done?" I asked, every trace of humour dropping from my voice, as well as several octaves. "To that woman outside?" _Just a little closer..._

"Yes." The male vampire proudly declared, a sick grin spreading his lips, exposing the sharp fangs hidden behind them. "My brethrens and most of our thralls had their way with her before the end. Soon, your strength will fail completely, and you will know the same fate." He stared lecherously at me as he unhooked a long branding iron from his belt, where it hung opposite his sword. I recognised the sigil at the end of it as the one on their violated victim's breast, and the fury in the pit of my belly roared into a raging inferno. "I will make sure your death is even more drawn out, but first, you will witness the beginning of our ascension, and the downfall of your kind."

"What downfall?" I panted, faking a growing fatigue I did not truly feel. My patience with his continued existence was growing thinner than my endurance. I longed to end it.

"Lokil." The female vampire unsuccessfully attempted to get her superior's attention again.

"An end to the tyranny of the sun!" He grandly declared. "The key to our triumph lies not a hundred feet away, and there is nothing you can do to..."

My eyes fluttered close, and his voice faded until I barely heard him. Slowly, I drew in a deep breath, banishing the pain in my side from my consciousness and letting my muscles relax. _One, two, three, four._ I mentally counted, positioning both vampires, their lone surviving slave and the pacing undead mutt in my mind's eye.

"Lokil!" The female vampire finally yelled, getting her master's full attention, as well as his scorn for interrupting his egomaniacal ranting. "Something is wrong! My spells can barely pull anything from her!"

"What?" An instinct honed against the harsh lessons of countless battles declared in that instant that the time to strike was upon me. My eyes flew open, flint hard, my pupils pinpricks that saw nothing but my next kill. I did not give 'Lokil' time to realise that, thanks to a coating of magic-resistant wax on my shield, the draining spell his minion had used to 'subdue' me was not having the intended effect. _One._ With their attention divided and off me, I reached behind my back for the crossbow still hanging on its sling, gripping it with one hand and pointing it at the bewildered she-vampire. Under normal circumstances, I would not even consider firing it in this shoddy manner, but my target was close by and the shot flew true, the steel tip burying itself into that ridiculous cleavage her armour proudly displayed, off center but still killing her instantly.

_Two._ Lokil whipped around, snarling with rage at my little deception, his magic dormant and his sword hanging uselessly at his side, too far to do him any good. Sharply twisting the handle of my shield, I stood up and raked the vampire's middle with the contraption's edge, a fourth and final circle of honed steel wings deploying from within to turn it into a large circular blade, providing a nasty, razor-sharp surprise to the conceited fool. His eyes widened and his fanged mouth fell open as his blood and guts spilled out from the gash in his abdomen, though only for the time it took for me to complete a full revolution, letting my momentum carry the bladed shield forward into a straight punch aimed directly at his throat, slicing it open while the weight of the shield shattered his neck. Through the haze of battle, I was seldom aware of the man I had thrown down the stairs screaming in agony, confirming both that he was indeed enslaved to Lokil, and that the vampire had left this world for good.

_Three_. Reversing my spin, I snapped a quick low heel kick at the gaping maw of the strange dark hound, before it had a chance to wind up its lunge for me. Stunned, the creature fell on its side, whimpering in a fashion so similar to that of a true, living and breathing dog my heartstrings were nearly plucked. Nearly, not quite. Without missing a beat, I positioned myself above the dazed hound, dropping to one knee, hard, over its thick, muscular neck, the impact jarring my hip but also immobilising the beast long enough for me to pull out my dagger and drive its curved tip deep into its exposed belly, twisting the wound open with a savage wrench of my wrist, revolting, brackish fluids no doubt analogous to blood spilling over my gloved hand.

_Four_. I left the blade embedded into the dying creature, turning my attention to the final threat I faced. Hefting his massive sword, the nameless thrall let out a guttural scream of absolute, primal hatred, rushing at me with the clear intention of cleaving me in two from shoulder to hip. He would have likely succeeded had I not anticipated the angle of his attack; already I had my shield braced up on both of my arms, ready to deflect the heavy overhand blow. I grunted with the effort of holding the shield steady, but the great blade skidded across its slanted surface with a screech of tearing metal, a few sparks flying off in every direction like shooting stars in the murk of the crypt. Gliding clean off a fraction of an inch from my pauldron, the sword landed harmlessly to my left with a thundering clang, shattering the stone tiling where it impacted. In one smooth motion, I righted myself and struck out with my right foot, my boot connecting violently with the two-hander's cross-guard. With his fingers no doubt numb from the impact and vibrations it sent along the blade, the thrall could not maintain his grip. The handle slipped from his fingers and the sword went careening off the edge leading to the small artificial island, into the black waters below. Without giving my opponent the chance to get his bearings, I shouldered my shield and threw my whole weight behind it, following through with a powerful bash that sent him crashing to the ground, dazed and confused. For a few long seconds the thrall trashed pathetically at my feet, the blind rage caused by the severing of the bond keeping his body from realising his life force was bleeding away just as surely as his master's had. He soon went still, the only movement he made the erratic rise and fall of his chest under the crude armour he wore. The darkness clouding his eyes dissipated like whiffs of smoke on the breeze, leaving them clear and blue for a heartbeat before a veil of sorrow misted them over.

"It's gone..." My kinsman murmured, hoarsely, his voice barely rising above the rumble of the current coming from below. "I no longer hear him... You. You freed me."

"I did." I neutrally replied, keeping a wary distance between the two of us, even though my first instinct would have been to kneel at his side and offer comfort in his last moments. Keeping my eyes on him and remaining poised to react to any last ditch effort at retaliation, I recovered my sword before I approached the dying thrall. "Who are you, kinsman? Did these fiends take you against your will, or did you serve them of your own volition?" I spat upon the body of Lokil as I addressed him. _Next time, do not waste time gloating. Just kill._

"Nay, I did not. My name is Rainar. I was a loyal soldier in the service of our king, guarding the southern borders. My patrol and I were attacked... I do not remember how long ago. It feels like another lifetime. Vampires. So many of them. They ambushed us out of nowhere. Most of my comrades were cut down." Rainar paused in his frantic recollection, his eyes clenching shut. "I envy them. They fell in battle, like true Nords should. The vampires had no such mercy for me. One of them was more adept at magic than his fellows. Paralysed me from behind. I had to watch helplessly as they butchered my friends." His eyes misted over, and I took his hand in a gesture of comfort.

"The past is done. The fiends have paid for their crimes. Your comrades have been avenged today." I told him softly. His hand was cold, even through my gloves. He was not long for this world.

"Gods..." He whimpered as the first tears streaked down his dirty cheek. "I wish I had died alongside them. The things I have done as that bastard's slave..." His anguish redoubled as his conscience caught up with what his master had forced him to do. "I raised my sword against the righteous and the innocent. I... Gods, I _forced_ myself on _her_..." He choked out amidst raging sobs.

"You said it yourself. That bastard made you do it." I murmured reassuringly. "Do not blame yourself. The Vigilants all rest at their god's side now."

"They... they deserve it. They fought valiantly."

"Be strong, Rainar." I addressed him a small, sad smile. "Soon, you can rest as well."

"Rest?" The former Stormcloak laughed mirthlessly amidst his anguished tears. "There is no rest for me. Shor will not welcome a raping murderer into his hall."

"You are wrong. Their sins are not yours." I assured him, gripping his hand more tightly. "You fell, honourably, in battle. Sovngarde will not deny you. When you stand before its gates, with the Whalebone Bridge stretched out before you, Tsun will not refuse you crossing. And should he doubt what is in your heart, tell him that Astlyr Stormblade sent you to him. Hold your head high and tell the Shield-Thane of Shor that you crossed swords with the daughter of the Dragonborn without wavering, as her father crossed swords with him, and she vouches for your courage and valor."

"Stormblade." The dying man reverently pronounced my seldom-spoken surname, and I nodded sadly, revealing it the only comfort I could offer him in his final moments. "Kin to the high king. You honour me, Dragonborn."

"I fear I am simply _dovahkiin_ , _a_ dragonborn, my friend." I sadly corrected him for using a title that, although I had inherited, I could never prove myself worthy of. The greatest battle of our era had already been fought and won by its previous bearer, before I was even born.

"Regardless. Do not let these mutts fool you. They were nothing but sycophants. Their true masters, the true Volkihar, are out there, and their power dwarfs that of any other vampires. Skyrim will need the strength of the dragonborn."

"Why?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably under his faith-shimmering gaze. "Lokil spoke of 'ending the tyranny of the sun'. What are the Volkihar planning?"

"I do not know. I only know they cannot be allowed to succeed. Stop them. Grant me this last request, Dragonborn." Rainar pleaded, using up the last of his strength to implore his dying wish. "Please promise me you will stop them, for my comrades, for the Vigil, and for Skyrim."

"I promise you." I brought a fist to my heart and pledged to the dying man as the last of the light left his eyes, and I reached for his face to lightly shut them. "As long as there is strength in my arm and my heart, they will not be victorious."

"I did not expect such compassion from you." Tolan quietly commented some time later, his footsteps breaking the silence. While I had been busy accompanying our adversary through his final moments, Tolan had rushed by Adalvad's side.

"How is your comrade faring?" I asked, ignoring his remark.

"In poor shape, but out of danger I think. He lost consciousness out of relief and exhaustion a few moments ago, but his breathing is strong. He should live. I cannot assess the state of his mind until he wakes, however." The Vigilant looked around us, and I followed his gaze to the numerous bodies surrounding us. "You are a skilled fighter." Tolan said, parroting my earlier words to him with a mixture of irony and awe. "It is easy to fault Isran's attitude, harder to fault his skills."

Once again, I found myself agreeing with him.

"Not quite skilled enough." I repeated his earlier words back at him with a wince, resisting the urge to press a hand to my wounded side. I suspected I had cracked a rib falling down that flight of stair, but I had no time to dwell upon the pain stabbing through my flank, or the fist gripping my chest. Killing thralls was always the hardest part of hunting vampires, at least on the heart. "Remain with your comrade, Tolan, and stay on your guard. We still have no clue what all this is about." It was about time we found some answers, and what Lokil said suggested they were close by, on the man-made island.

"Astlyr." Tolan called out my given name before I could walk more than a few feet away.

" _Eleanor_. Eleanor Moonhunt." I whipped around and half-snarled, more in pain, physical and metaphysical, than anger. "I told you my name, Vigilant. Use it, or hold your tongue."

"Eleanor." Tolan corrected himself, his tone placating. "Thank you for this. I entered this cave hoping to die, so I could rejoin my brothers and sisters at Stendarr's side. Thank you for returning one of them to me. You gave me back a reason to live."

"You're welcome." I quietly said with a lowered brow.

"Go. I will see to them both." He affirmed and knelt by the side of Rainar's body. I watched him for a moment, finding some solace in the delivery of Rainar's final rites, administered by one of the few survivors of the massacre he had unwillingly partaken in. With a renewed resolve that banished the pain and weariness of my body, I loaded one of my few remaining bolts into the crossbow, hefted my sword and took my first step onto the bridge, a sense of awe taking over me as I began crossing.

Magic positively crackled around me the closer I drew, creating a dim purple haze around the structure. Three concentric circles of columns and archway stood upon the island, all of them carved in the same sharp, angular style the rest of the crypt had been. More of those gargoyles I had seen earlier stood guard above me, perched upon the intricate structure at regular intervals, their gem-like eyes giving the unnerving illusion of tracking me, like they could pounce at a moment's notice. At the center of the segmented, perfectly hexagonal floor, I found a chest high pillar of pitch black obsidian, the intensity of the ambient magic around it reaching a crescendo, setting my ears abuzz like a vibration I could not quite make out. Atop the pillar rested a rounded, shallow pool of what looked to my alchemist eyes like quicksilver, the sides of the basin engraved with runes I did not recognise. Carefully, I brushed my hand over the top, brushing away centuries of dust to reveal the polished surface beneath... and very nearly got my forearm skewered when the liquid below it reacted violently to my presence, solidifying into a long, smooth stake that extended upward like a striking viper. My reflexes were barely enough to avoid the worst of the damage; despite jerking my arm away, the quicksilver spike managed to score a long, shallow gash through the sleeve of my doublet. Gasping in surprise, I took a step back, watching mesmerised as a fat drop of my blood slowly glided down the length of the trap or device, or whatever it was, leaving tiny sparks of mauve lightning in its wake, all the way down to the half-filled pool. The drop dissolved slowly within instead of floating on top as expected, as if the liquid metal had been a simple pool of still water, leaving behind a small burst of heatless purple flames that rapidly engulfed the whole pillar. The entire floor followed suit, trembling in the wake of the magical wave. Of dispelling magic, I realised as the thrumming feeling in my inner ear lessened and died out.

Something in my blood was clearly not agreeing with this place.

The tremors intensified to the point I had some trouble keeping my balance. Abruptly, the floor shifted under my feet, the segments rearranging themselves into a soft slope, creating a depression in the center of the island. The obsidian pillar seemed to grow before my very eyes, but I quickly realised it was I who was sinking. Before long, the whole process ground to a halt; relative to me, the object, whatever it was, now stood half again as tall as I did, its surface at a glance featureless. With a hiss of rushing air, the last of the magical seals dissipated, and the obsidian slab slowly retreated back into the floor, letting the purple gloom fill the hollow cavity within.

For a brief instant, I caught a glimpse of skin pale as freshly fallen snow and dark red or perhaps purple garments before my knees nearly buckled under a hundred and some pounds of sudden added weight.

The clatter of my sword hitting the ground for a second time this night echoed against the distant roof of the enormous cavern, drowning out my grunt of effort and surprise. The previous occupant of the... well, if it was not a coffin, it certainly looked the part of one, had spilled out like a puppet with cut strings right into my arms. Biting back a wince as the effort strained my bruised ribs, I lowered us both to the slanted ground with instinctive care, even though in all likelihood whoever was in my arms was long dead. The rush of air into the coffin had been evidence enough they would have suffocated.

_What is the meaning of this?_ My eyes, so far busy scanning my surroundings for any sign of sprung traps or additional guardians, settled on the limp body, and my breath caught in my throat.

_By Dibella and Mara, she's..._ I had trouble finding any suitable adjectives to describe the young woman. Never in all my years had I laid eyes upon such striking beauty. Her hair seemed woven out of pure shadows, so dark it would not have looked out of place framing the face of Nocturnal herself. Her skin was incredibly pale in contrast, almost but, ironically, not quite deathly so. High cheekbones, a small impish nose and a fine jaw gave her features an aristocratic (and somewhat insolent) quality that, coupled with a slight build despite obvious Nord descent, made me consider she must have been the heiress of some noble family in life... if the elaborate tomb and magical warding were not enough of a hint. Her milky skin showed not a sign of decay, which was not that unusual; there were spells I knew could preserve a dead body in pristine condition for millennia, and many a grief-stricken noble had employed them to ward the remains of a loved one against the passage of time. It lent credence to this theory that she had obviously died before her time as well; I could only generously place her in her early twenties, if that.

_What in Oblivion is going on here?_ I wondered. Was this woman's body the object of these vampires' search? And why, if that was truly the case? What could they possibly want with it? Necromancy? Could they be hoping to raise her? Or perhaps she had been buried with some precious item?

I tore my eyes away from her mesmerising face, dragging them down the rest of her, trying to find any clue as to who she was. Her attire's rich purple hue clearly identified her as a member of either nobility or great affluence. Oddly, the outfit was cut in a _fairly_ utilitarian fashion, including a pair of black trousers, and was probably her idea of simple travel clothes in life. The lace cuffs of her sleeves and the embroidery covering the black, corset-like top snuggly hugging her narrow waist somewhat ruined the effect however. The top of small, almost perfectly round breasts peeked through a narrow gap between the bodice and the garment she had on underneath, while a thick collar doubled with some kind of soft grey material encircled her throat. Her shoulders were covered with a lightweight black cape, pinned to her chest by a dark, strangely gleaming brooch, in the form of a crest I did not recognise.

_These are no burial clothes..._ I thought, palpating the strangely familiar material of her bodice, finding out it was much more resilient than I had originally thought, making it nearly more of a light breastplate than an enticing article of clothing. In fact, I realised with a cold and sudden wash of fear, it was all but identical to the strange, flexible leathery material the armour of the vampires I fought was made of.

I felt her hand press delicately against my armoured side at the exact same moment my eyes met the hungry crimson gaze of the woman in my arms, too late to do anything about it, other than wonder how I could have missed the signs this was a perfectly animate, merely slumbering vampire I held.

A dull green glow flashed briefly between us, and instantly, my every muscle pulled tight, so tight they threatened to tears off my bones.

For a beat, pain so intense I could not dream of screaming overcame me; a spasm overtook my entire body as it attempted to fend off the paralysis, before it went completely limp, turning me into a veritable ragdoll that slumped helplessly to the floor, to the obvious delight of the vampire. Crooning wordlessly, she crawled on top of me, her fiery eyes fixed not on mine but a bit lower, where my jugular was still covered by its newly scarred protective collar. Her thighs settled on either side of my waist, and her long, tapered fingers began to leisurely pry the leather away from the pulse hammering at my throat. Soft, supple and cool, despite the fact she had just emerged from a bleeding coffin, her lips began delicately scouring my skin, looking for the appropriate spot for her to sink her razor sharp fangs into me, and there was not a damn thing I could do to stop her. With ease, her slender arms lifted my broader armoured upper body off the ground, pulling me close into her embrace. Deft fingers combed through my hair, freeing the wild, reddish brown strands from their braid so she could get a firm but gentle grip on it, using it to tip my head to the side, making room to settle her head in the hollow of my throat. Her fangs grazed my skin, teasing, playful; my eyes went wild in near-panic and my heart hammered in my chest, but my body refused to obey me.

Her lips curled into a smile against the tender skin of my throat, and without toying with her meal further, she unceremoniously bit deep into me.

The prick of pain as the sharp tips broke through my skin was minuscule, but I clung to it desperately, as if it could save me from the humiliating violation that was to come. Tendrils of cool ecstasy crawled sinuously under my skin, breaking it out in gooseflesh. I shuddered, my breath catching in a low moan, torn from me by insidious pleasure when her throat began to work convulsively to pull the blood from my veins. With near-violence, my body readied within the suddenly constricting confines of my armour, the uncontrollable bucking of my hips in time with her pulls and swallows the first evidence the paralysis charm she had used had worn off. Thick fog seemed to enshroud me, clouding my thoughts; I was only distantly aware I was desperately clutching the vampire much tighter than she was me. There was no need for her to apply any strength to keep her mouth latched to my throat; in fact it would probably have been harder for her to pull away than anything else. Not only could I barely conceive of _wanting_ to remove her, I was desperately clutching her _closer_. Each pull sent me deeper under a constant, orgasmic tide; each drop she took blurred the line between our two beings until, even through cloth and leather and steel, I could no longer tell where I ended and she began.

"What in the name of Bal are you?" She withdrew her fangs and let out in a loud moan, her back arching in sheer pleasure, her hips grinding feverishly against my thigh. Her voice was low and throaty, the feeling of smooth liquor gliding down your throat given sound. Her face was a mask of sensual ecstasy, her lips half-parted to let out her passionate pants, her eyes heavy-lidded with overwhelming pleasure. Her beauty was nothing short of unfathomable.

"So powerful." She murmured after nearly collapsing on top of me, her fiery eyes inches from mine, her delicate hands framing the strong lines of my face with infinite reverence. "I'm so sorry. I can't... can't stop. I need more. Need all of you." The surge of passion she invoked in me when her dainty little fangs slid back into my skin lifted her cleanly off the floor. I had never felt anything like this; climax after climax washed over me, my hunger for more only stoked, not abated, the deeper she taped me. I clutched desperately at her clothes, instinctively trying to tear them off, to feel her cool skin against the raging inferno of mine.

One would think she felt as eager to get me out of my armour as I felt to get her out of hers. They would be wrong. That is not what she meant by saying she needed to have all of me. As the ecstasy sapped my will, her mental grip shifted from simply coaxing pleasure out of me to something deeper and much more insidious. Her claws closed in on my heart, playing it like a master bard strumming her favourite instrument, sinking exquisitely in the most vulnerable parts of myself, parts life had taught me to hide from the world.

She wanted all of me for herself, not just for a moment, but for the rest of my mortal existence, or whatever was left of her immortal one. She wanted me as her thrall.

I could muster no defence but a pathetic whimper of fright by the time I realised what she was about to steal away from me, how deeply she would change the very fabric of my being.

_Shhh..._ A voice, smooth, soothing, whispered seductively in my mind in a mental caress as intimate as any lover's. _Stop fighting me. I promise I will not hurt you. You're safe now. Give in to me._ Her fingers stroked my hair, appeasing, easing the fear. It would be so easy to just give in; no more doubts, no more pain, just bask in the all-encompassing love that was my mistress...

A roar of outrage echoed through my soul, so deafening I was surprised the cave did not collapse in on us. _No! The vampire can try to conquer this feeble mortal heart, if she is so easily amused, but I am DOVAH! zu'u los dovah! zu'u fen kreh wah nid, suranmiik ni joor voth hahnurov do ul!_

My mind careened back to reality, and with it, the awareness of my body, the discomfort of lying down in armour, the scalding cold of her dead fingers and lips around my neck, the prick of her fangs underneath the physical bliss. With badly trembling fingers, I reached down for my belt, where my dagger hung, a last hope against the subjugation the vampire was attempting. My strength rapidly waning, I wrenched it from its sheath, the tremors wracking my body almost causing me to drop the weapon when I twirled it around into a stabbing grip. The vampire tore her mouth away from my throat as I drove the blade into her chest, the tip of the dagger ripping against her ribs causing a feral, inhuman hiss to erupt from her parted lips. Fangs red with my blood gleamed before my eyes, brought instantly into focus as her mental grip on my mind slipped, and I realised the depths of danger I still found myself in.

While I could think clearly once more, my clumsy thrust had missed her heart, and I quickly assessed that injury was not much more than a painful distraction to the undead straddling me. Already her hand glowed with the green light of her paralysing spell, and I doubted she would give me a chance to escape its effects a second time before draining me dry. Twisting under her before she could complete her casting, I slammed the palm of my hand into her face, putting as much strength as I could behind the blow from my less-than-ideal position. Despite lacking leverage, my efforts were rewarded with the satisfying crack of her nose breaking. Her blood-curdling hiss gave way to a much more mundane sound of outrage, muffled by the hands the vampire clutched to her face.

The pain caused her to jerk away from me, giving me just enough leeway to wedge my boot between her body and mine, and with a grunt of effort I managed to shove the vampire off, and roll to a crouch to stand up, my eyes searching the ground for my sword. My adversary stumbled backward, momentarily off balance, her back hitting the coffin out of which she had come with a hard thud. Blood streamed down her face when she pulled her hand away to glower at me, murder pure and simple in her fiery eyes. The dim green light in her hand faded, replaced by viciously crackling strands of lightning arcing between her fingers and down to her wrist, the light they emitted intense enough I had to squint. A keening whine drowned out the sound of running water, along with a potent charge, like the stifling interior was about to play host to a thunderstorm. This was no mage novice's spell, nothing at all like the onslaught the lesser vampires I had killed had barraged me with. This one was clearly much more adept at the Destruction school of magic. Brilliant...

I dove blindly to my right, my ribs screaming in protest as I turned the fall into a controlled tumble, rolling with the momentum to bring my feet under me and rise to a half crouch, just as the bolt of lightning crashed a few feet away, right where I was standing mere heartbeats earlier. The bluish white flash banished the murk of the cave for a fraction of a second, blinding me as well as the vampire. Blinding her to a much greater extent, I quickly realised as I blinked back tears to see her stumbling away, groping behind her for anything to brace herself against. Her perfect vampiric night vision had turned into a double edged sword, the burst of light having overloaded her sight completely, stunning her momentarily and, though I had trouble believing it, redoubling her outrage until she looked on the cusp of spontaneously combusting. Both of her hands were now shrouded in raw, unwoven magical energies, and there was no doubt in my mind she would not make the same mistake twice. The air in the cave grew several degrees hotter, then frigid in a matter of seconds, as she employed her magic to chase the heat it held, converting the ample ambient moisture into hundreds of shards of ice that coalesced into a jagged spear longer than my forearm. What she intended to do with it, well... there are not that many uses for a levitating icicle large enough for an adult dragon to use as a toothpick. Her eyes locked on mine, flint hard and merciless, all of their earlier playfulness gone, and she wound back her arm for a toss...

_Fus. Force. The simplest expression of power, the result of will attempting to shift reality, in however small or large a way._

_Ro. Balance. The equilibrium allowing force to overcome all obstacles. With the proper balance, force could topple all._

_Dah. Push. The direction, the thought and intent guiding force, making it more than simply will, straining aimlessly against the oppression of the universe._

"FUS!" I inhaled with the uttering of the first word, my lungs seeming, for a single heartbeat, to hold all the air of Mundus as my Thu'um surged with all of its might. "RO DAH!" Before the vampire could impale me with her icy spear, the Shout manifested, the energy invested in the draconic words of power transforming their fully visualised intent into reality. A crack of thunder and a wave of force emanated from my body, sweeping all in its path away like the fist of an angry giant. Weighing in at all of a hundred or so pounds, with only light armour on her back, the vampire was batted away like a gnat caught in a storm, her focus instantly shattered, as her body would likely be once her current course ended, abruptly, at one of stone the pillars surrounding us...

... or it would have had she not disintegrated into a swarm of bats at the last possible second.

_Surely you jest..._ I gaped, almost dumbstruck, at the spot the vampire had vanished from, wondering if I had lost more blood than I thought. Of course, vampires in folklore were traditionally associated with bats, something I had always chalked up to the bestial aspect every vampire, save this one, donned after rising from death, but this was the first time I had ever seen one display such powers. It made just a bit more sense now why other vampires may have been after her.

Speaking of which, all vampires have the ability, and the instinct, to project an illusory veil about themselves to camouflage their bestial features behind a normal human or elven mask. Being dragonborn grants me a fool-proof immunity to illusions of all kind; to me, all vampires looked like long-toothed, fiery eyed monsters. This vampire truly did look like a beautiful young woman, with only her eyes betraying her true nature, eyes that were shut when I first saw her. I was most definitely not distracted by a pretty corpse falling into my arms, especially not to the point of being blindsided. That was an embarrassing mistake, but a honest one. Truly.

Feeling defensive? Who, me?

_Could she be one of those 'true Volkihar' Rainar warned me about?_

A trickle of warmth made its way under the collar of my arming coat, drawing my fingers to the wound still seeping at my throat, neat little punctures almost too clean to have come from a bite. The biting cold of fear in my blood was subsiding somewhat, and without its numbness to shield me, I became more than distantly aware of my body once more, and the after-effects the vampire's bite had, both the humiliating and the dangerous ones. My thighs were as uncomfortably slick as the bitten side of my neck, but I had no time to feel embarrassed about my rapidly cooling state of forced arousal. Far more distressing was the acute awareness of the taint her bite had left in my blood, like hundreds of minuscule spiders crawling in my veins.

Already, barely a minute after the first vampire bite I had ever experienced, I was beginning to turn into one of the fiends. Inconceivable.

Urgently, I half-walked, half-stumbled to my dropped sword, all my senses alert against any ambush attempt by the mysterious vampire, and gripped it firmly in one hand. The other I used to pull out a second purifying vial out of my satchel of assorted curatives.

_I had to use one sooner or later_ , I thought, bemused, as I pulled out the cork with my teeth and took a deep breath, spilling the contents upon my wound as I began to exhale. The liquid was cool where it hit my intact skin, but as soon as it poured into the clean, almost quaint little punctures my jaw clenched with the effort to keep myself from screaming bloody murder. My left arm drew tightly to my side, the pain turning the muscles into useless bands of white-hot iron. Dark and revolting bloody froth was expelled from the wound, much, _much_ more abundantly than it had from Tolan's neck, the stench combined with the maddening pain driving me panting and pathetically whimpering to my knees. It took all of my will, and quite a bit of my pride, not to curl up into ball and break down in anguish.

"Gods..." I gasped once the vice of pain loosened enough for me to utter the quiet plea. "I am going to _murder_ this bitch." I muttered, whipping sweat, tears and a bit of saliva from my face with the back of my hand before forcing my tetanised shoulder to roll back and forth into a semblance of usefulness, then my arm, and finally my forearm and fingers. My entire left limb felt exhausted and clumsy, but at least it was moving again, and it supported the weight of the crossbow I shouldered easily enough. My rage might have something to do with that last part. I think I was fifteen the last time I felt this bloody _eager_ to add a notch to my belt.

"You know, when I went to sleep, 'vampire hunters' usually meant a scared and bloodthirsty slobbering mob brandishing torches and pitchforks." I whipped around in the direction the smooth and slightly sarcastic voice came from, my crossbow sights setting upon nothing more than an empty space between two archways. "I have never met a mortal who was so ready and able to face my kind. These ones certainly never stood a chance. Quite the number you did on them." _Up_ , I thought, and lifted my eyes to find the twin, minuscule pinpricks of her crimson irises lancing the darkness. The crossbow's mechanism released with a loud _twang_ , but to no avail. The bolt flew true, but the vampire was already gone by the time it reached the spot she had occupied. Cursing, I reached for my hip and fished another bolt out of my small quiver, momentarily disturbed by the rate I had been going through them. My marksmanship was a point of pride for me; yet shooting at that vampire cow left me feeling like a blind cave troll.

"What are you?" The curious vampire asked from a point behind me, a point from which she was gone by the time I drew a bead on her. "You are fast. The way you move is so sparse and so sure, even with a skin of steel on your back. And your blood... like drinking liquid fire."

"Damn you, hold still!" I cursed under my breath. Invariably, with each new sentence, she spoke from behind me, no matter how quickly I turned around.

"Maybe I will, if you ask nicely, or you put that stake thrower away." She chidingly replied. _Of course she heard that._ "Perhaps we could even finish what we started earlier."

"I would sooner kiss a draugr." I called out to her, my temper getting the better of my discipline.

"I am a much better kisser than some dusty shambling corpse, trust me." She laughed, enjoying what she likely thought of as banter.

"'Dust' is the only difference I see between you and them."

"You wound me." She replied, sounding anything but. "Oh, why do you lie so? You enjoyed yourself at least as much as I did. I can still smell it from here."

"Enjoy your attempt at enslaving me? To force yourself upon me? You flatter yourself."

"I said I was sorry. I have no idea how long I was cooped up in there. It might have been years since I had blood last. My thirst was certainly unbearable enough when I woke up. Can you blame me for grabbing the first meal I could sink my fangs in?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked, the painful pulse in my neck lending extra heat to my words. "If not, get over here and I will explain to you in great detail just how much I blame you."

"Say that again with a bit more sultriness, and I will be sorely tempted. It was your own fault the sharing turned unpleasant. I certainly did not pour that potion on you, did I?" She paused, a quiet, thoughtful cluck of tongue betraying her position. She had stopped radically changing her position for the past several seconds, instead drawing me further and further away from her coffin. "On second thought, I am glad you stopped the change. As interesting a vampire as you would make, I would loathe to lose my chance to taste your blood again." I rounded the pillar, crossbow steadily pointed at her supposed hiding place, finding only empty air.

"Damn it all!" I cursed out loud in exasperation, and turned back around just in time to spot her, right back where she had emerged, crouched next to the obsidian pillar, frantically fiddling with something within. Her eyes met mine, and I experienced a fraction of a second of elation when they widened in fear at being caught in the open... Not that the bolt I fired at her struck anything but the polished surface of her coffin. Damned vampire and her thrice be-damned speed.

_Attempting to lure me away? Clever. What exactly were you trying to recover?_ I salvaged the bolt that just missed her and loaded it back in the crossbow's tray, setting my weapon within easy reach before I cautiously peeked inside. What with the vampire falling into my arms when the coffin had opened, I had little time to take note of the interior; it was as bare as the outside, the cavity within rounded and smooth but otherwise cold, devoid of any kind of upholstery, of any trace of comfort. A terrible place to spend Hermaeus knows how long locked up; had we been talking about anyone other than a vampire who practically raped me, I would have felt a pang of compassion. _Her_ , though, I just wanted to stuff back inside. Possibly without her heart.

It only took one pass of my fingertips for me to find the discreet indent signaling the presence of a secondary compartment. The panel, just like its larger sibling that sealed the entire coffin off, disappeared under my touch, sliding noisily down to reveal the compartment's contents, a large, heavily jewelled golden cylinder. A cylinder the simple sight of which made my clench with a peculiar unease, a feeling I knew but had not experience in nearly thirty years. Not since my father had taken a very similar objects out of our Whiterun manor house vault, showing the priceless treasure off to his daughter before he left to entrust it to 'one of his friends'. I remember breaking down crying that day, incapable of understanding why the sight of something so harmless could put my then-frequent nightmares to shame. It had taken my father's arms around me and his deep, gravelly voice to reassure me it was natural for those born with the dragon blood to feel uneasy in the presence of a piece of the divine. Dragons, he told me, unlike mortals, know and recognise their creators on a deeper level, understanding the gods that had sided with man in a way that dwarfed the knowledge of the most revered of priests. They know and fear what created them, and could grant the other races the power to destroy them.

I had not truly understood back then what he meant. It is still difficult to put into word just what an elder scroll is. I just know that any dragon or dragonborn knows one by sight, and that is exactly what I found in my latest nemesis' coffin.

A leather strap had been attached to both ends of this particular scroll for ease of carry, so I wasted no time. Swallowing back my instinctive discomfort, I gripped it and slung over my shoulder, recovered my crossbow and stood up, hastily making sure my precious burden was secured on my shoulder, and strode off, pivoting at regular intervals to make sure the vampire did not blindside me. I only made it in sight of the bridge before that beautifully despised voice rose to envelop me again.

"That is mine." The vampire petulantly declared from behind me. I snarled and turned around, my finger pressing lightly on the trigger, and found myself staring much more closely than expected at flaming red eyes. The languid look in them was gone, replaced by something very near outrage, not to mention... worry?

"I believe the divine would disagree with you." I corrected my stance and narrowed my eyes down the crossbow sights, my need for answers the only thing keeping me from crushing the trigger beneath my finger and ending her where she stood. "Where did you get that?" I demanded.

"That is no concern of yours. Give me back the scroll." She demanded in turn, extending an exigent palm towards me.

"I think you may have gone mad sleeping in there." I scoffed. "Hand an _elder scroll_ over to a _vampire_? Over my dead body."

"I liked you better as a grumpy vampire hunter than a self-righteous petty thief." She crossed her arms under her breasts and huffed, supremely unconcerned by the weapon trained on her... or at least much more concerned with getting the scroll back than getting a bolt through the heart for her troubles.

" _Where did you get the scroll?_ " I repeated myself more forcefully. "Why were you sealed away with it?"

"If you give it back, there is a chance you will never have to find out." She caustically replied. "Please? Will a curtsy and a bow make you more amenable?"

_I may just pay to see that_ , I thought snidely, but the words out of my mouth were harsh and aggressive. "I will not ask again."

"I believe that was my line, not yours." She shot back, her hand impatiently tracing a pattern in the air. A signal, I realised too late; already, an ear-splitting screech, like a glacier grinding upon stone as it inexorably shifted, filled the air. Dust and splinters of stone rained down upon me, almost blinding as it covered my hair and face. I was lucky that was all that fell on me; the animated gargoyle that landed like a boulder between me and the vampire would have most likely made a much bigger mess. _I knew something about them rubbed me the wrong way. I just knew._

Even though it stood a few inches shorter than me, the creature's large wings and stocky body still cut an intimidating figure. The shower of dust had been composed of its charcoal-grey skin, the creature underneath turning out to be a milky white or very light grey. Huge bat-like ears sprouted out the top of its head

"Do you like my pets?" She innocently asked while I cursed up a storm. As masterfully crafted as my sword was, defeating stone was simply not the forte of any cutting weapon; and my crossbow simply did not bear mentioning. A look at the creature was enough to tell me it would shrug off its fire like so many bug bites.

"Adorable." I grimaced, wiping the dust from my eyes. "Should I be worried? You tasted my Voice. You know I could Shout both your curs to pieces without breaking a sweat."

"No doubt." The vampire nodded her head, though she looked no less confident for that admission. "However, do you think you could do the same to those closing on the other humans as we speak?" She pointed behind me, and I barely reined in the impulse to turn around, my blood running cold in fear for Tolan and Adalvad. I did not have to look; I could feel the distant gargoyles' deep snarls in the marrow of my very bones.

"Don't you dare. Do you hear me? Don't you dare touch a hair off their head!"

"Daring has nothing to do with it. I cannot let you walk away with the scroll, simple as that."

"Call them off, or I swear, I will kill you even if it is the last thing I do!"

"No one has to die!" She raised her voice as I did. "Just give me back what is mine, and I will let all of you go."

"Just how foolish do you think I am?" I asked.

" _Not at all_." The vampire glided more than walked closer, past her two gargoyle protectors and within very easy reach of me, her gaze intently meeting mine. "I am hoping you can be reasoned with, so I will not have to kill three persons who did nothing to me. Please. Do not make me do this." There was hunger in her eyes, as there is in the eyes of every vampire, but also something else as well; earnestness, honesty even. I believed her when she said she did not want to hurt Tolan and Adalvad.

And coming from a vampire, _that_ gave me pause more than any of the powers she had displayed.

"Assuming I gave it to you..." I reluctantly began. "What would do with the scroll?"

"Nothing." The vampire replied impassively.

"Did I mishear your when you said you did not take me for a fool?" I dubiously shot back.

"I am telling you the truth, Huntress." She calmly assured me. "I was entrusted with this scroll, nothing else. I have no sinister design for it to try and keep secret from you. Not beyond keeping out of the hands of my- bad people." She stumbled awkwardly, as if she had nearly spilled exactly the kind of secret she claimed she was not keeping from me.

"Bad people? Really?" I arched a brow, neither impressed nor quite satisfied with that answer.

"Worse people than you and me, at least." She gave me a sheepish look, pleading wordlessly not to press those questions.

"You mean your clan?" I asked, remembering the words of that fool Lokil.

"That is a personal-" She began to reply but cut herself off, her face closing down. "You only need to know I plan to keep it hidden from the world."

_You are_ at least _as insane as she is_ , I berated myself as I drew my shield, the only tool in my arsenal I figured could help me against the gargoyles if I turned out to be wrong, and pulled the sling of the scroll off my shoulder, letting it drop heavily to my hand.

"Do I have your word?" I gruffly asked.

"You have it." The vampire told me without hesitation, an actual, honest smile spreading her velveteen lips. "No harm will come to you or your companions unless you instigate violence."

_In-sane._

Grumbling wordlessly, I extended the scroll towards the vampire. She approached me slowly, that otherworldly un-sinister smile still plastered to her face, both her hands held out before her to indicate she was no threat.

"That is not necessary." I twitched and growled at her when her fingertips brushed against my hand, a jolt of something I preferred not to reflect upon too closely jumping between us.

"Your mannerism is a bit odd. Wild." She teased me, not exactly off-put, her touch lingering on my hand. Like the rest of her, her fingers were long and slender, hiding, I knew all too well, a deceptive strength. To say they looked odd covering my worn, blood-splattered leather glove would have been an understatement. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No." I replied too quickly to sound convincing.

"Mortals must be less observant than I remember, then." She mused as she began to move her hand to my face, her fingers drawn to the three jagged scars on my left cheek, thin pale lines that followed my jaw almost perfectly. "The Voice, the potency of your blood... there is something strangely compelling about you."

"Just take the bloody scroll before I come to my senses." I warned her with my eyes not to press her luck.

"Your personality could use a bit of work. My fault for bringing out the worst in you, I suppose." She let out an exaggerated sigh and smirked crookedly at me, choosing wisely to withdraw her hand. _I have not splattered you into unidentifiable chunks of meat on the floor. You have no idea what the worst of me looks like._ "By the way, I realize I've yet to introduce myself. My name is Serana. Will you not tell me yours?" She asked me after a few seconds, her continued attempts at civility again shocking me.

"Eleanor." I grudgingly answered.

"Eleanor." Serana scrunched up her nose pronouncing my name, like its syllables tasted sour to her. "I suppose you were born to be at odds with me, hmm? Thank you." She declared with a graceful bow once she had the scroll secured against her back. "I can tell it was... difficult, for you to trust me."

"I do not trust you as far as I can throw you, vampire." I snarled back from behind the relative safety of my shield, refusing to use her name.

"Well, that Voice of yours _did_ send me flying a fair distance..." She sardonically mused. "I will remain hopeful. Our friendship has to start somewhere."

"Our _friendship_?" I shook my head, laughing humourlessly. "You truly are insane."

"Well, let's see. You reasonably gave me back my possession, you fed me..." Serana recited, counting her points off her fingers.

"We tried to kill each other..." I pointed out, bewildered she could even be thinking such nonsense, let alone spouting it.

"Well, you tried to kill me, really, but that is quite all right; you always did it openly and from the front, never the back. Where I come from, we would be considered close friends."

Though I did not have pity to spare the vampire, I had no clever repartee to that, so I silently watched her turn to assess her surroundings. "This way leads back to the ancients' tombs. You should find a safe exit there." She helpfully provided, pointing at the far side of the cavern from the point Tolan and I had entered, and headed in that direction... apparently intent on leaving me alone with her gargoyle pets.

"Your word?" I reminded her, glaring warily at the closest one, still poised to attack me at the drop of a hat.

Serana turned to face me, the tips of her cape billowing gracefully around her. "I will be true to it. The gargoyles will go dormant once I depart, I promise. Until we meet again, Huntress." The beautiful vampire tipped her head at me, and in a beat she vanished. Abruptly, the gargoyles sprang into motion, as, reflexively, did I, but to my astonishment, they did not turn aggressive. Without a fuss, all three constructs returned to their resting place, leaving me alone in the center island, dazed and confused and covered in a myriad aches, unsure just what in Oblivion had I let slip through my fingers.

_I only hope Isran and the rest of the guard can make sense of this. All those efforts will feel mighty useless otherwise_. I thought, running the cleaner of my hands through the damp, sweat-matted, dust-caked mess of my mane of brown curls. I was in dire need of a bath, a hot meal and a warm bed, none of which was present in my foreseeable future.

"What happened?" Tolan asked as soon as he caught sight of me.

"I wish I could tell you, Tolan." I sighed, shaking my head, a bit of dust ending up stuck on my upper lip. "Can he walk? We should get out of here before more vampires show up."

As it turned out, with a little help from his comrade, Adalvad was able to hobble around at a humble pace. Seeing as Tolan and I had left a riled Frostbite in the passage we had come from, we had little choice but to head the way Serana had pointed out and trust she had not sent us into a trap.

Although to tell the truth, I was more concerned by the fact that, even though I had just let a vampire with motives I only half believed in, at best, escape with one of the most powerful artefact in creation, I had trouble banishing the haunting feel of her lips against my skin from my mind.

_Serana..._


End file.
